


love is the crooked thing

by puddle_wonderful



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddle_wonderful/pseuds/puddle_wonderful
Summary: Harry Potter lost. Voldemort won. Hogwarts is a ruin and the Order of the Phoenix is dead. Everybody believes that Harry died in the Forbidden Forest. But after years spent on the run, Hermione uses the last of her magical energy to infuse a Time-Turner that sends Harry back to 1977.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 173
Kudos: 576





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello everyone! The first four chapters have been reworked a bit. 
> 
> For new readers, a quick note about this story: there is an explicit student/teacher relationship (though in this case, the teacher is Harry and he's just 21, so the age gap isn't quite as wide). It will begin while Severus is in his final year at Hogwarts and about 2 weeks before his 18th birthday. 
> 
> I do not endorse such relationships in real life but if such content bothers you then please do not read. Otherwise... Welcome! Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> And a huge thank you to my betas JocundaSykes and zalil for all of their help!

_Seventeen-year-old Harry Potter knelt in the soft dirt of the Forbidden Forest, the false sword of Gryffindor cracked in half beside him. Dusk had fallen. The only light came from the tip of his holly wand, which shone in a small circle around him, illuminating their broken hope and his dying best friend._

_“Harry, please,” Ron whispered. He’d been hit by a curse hours ago, but no one knew how to cure him. Ron’s limbs were black. The skin of his fingertips was splitting open and leaking foul-smelling pus. The pale skin of his chest contrasted with the inky black lines that led from his ruined hands to his heart. He would not survive much longer. “Please, Harry,” Ron begged again, his face twisted in agony._

_Harry remembered Ron as he had been the first day they’d met, his nose smudged with dirt, laughing as they shared sweets from the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. Harry nodded once and relief flooded his friend’s eyes._

_“_ Avada Kedavra, _” Harry whispered. The green light flashed and Ron was gone. His body lay still._

Twenty-one-year-old Harry Potter woke with a start. _Just a dream. Just a memory._ In the darkness, dreams and memories and reality blurred together in a disorientating swirl. The four years after the Battle of Hogwarts came crashing down on him in a moment. Too much darkness. Too much death.

Harry kept his breathing deep and steady, feigning sleep as he assessed his surroundings. He listened intently for any noise that would signal someone was in the room with him, but all remained still. Harry listened for breathing, the subtle shifting of weight, an animal’s scratching, but all was quiet. He allowed himself to take a deep breath and shake off sleep. The room smelled familiar.

His eyes snapped open and he remembered that he was at the Leaky Cauldron. He had stayed in this very room during the summer before his third year at Hogwarts. Little would change through the years. Only the comparison with his room at the Dursley’s had made it seem like home. Painted a drab grey, it had very little warmth. But that didn’t matter because, hopefully, he would be returning to his true home soon. Today, he had an interview at Hogwarts.

It was 1977, and the first war against the Dark Lord had not yet claimed the lives of his parents. His friends were yet to be, and so was Harry Potter. He was no longer Harry Potter, failure of the wizarding world, but Defence Master Harry Greene, the hopeful candidate for the latest in a long line of Defence Against the Dark Arts professors.

The fact that he had travelled through time still stunned him, even after spending more than a year preparing for it. Hermione had been the one to figure it out, of course. She pinpointed the moment in history that things had started to go wrong and, in the ruins of the Department of Mysteries, she had found a book that held the secret to creating a Time-Turner. And not just any Time-Turner, but one that would take him back far enough to make a difference. It had taken her a year of constant effort before she had been successful. A dark year without contact with the outside world, with Harry acting as her Secret Keeper and her only liaison to the world outside their cottage.

And now Hermione was gone too. She, along with everyone else he had loved in the world he had left, was dead.

Harry stretched and tried to banish his memories. He dug through his trunk for some clean robes for his meeting with Professor Dumbledore, which was in an hour. He’d rented a post owl almost as soon as he’d arrived. Getting to Hogwarts was his first priority.

But he wanted to have a shower first. He had arrived yesterday in the heart of London, just outside of Diagon Alley, and the journey had not been an easy one, though it had gone better than he and Hermione had expected. And he had managed to take his miniaturised trunk containing all his remaining worldly possessions, which included some clothes, books, and a few other objects that had not been destroyed or lost during his years on the run. The most treasured possession that had made the journey with him was his father’s Invisibility Cloak. Otherwise, he did not have much, but because Hermione had not been sure he would be able to take anything at all, he was grateful for what little he had. They had laughed fitfully at the idea of Harry turning up naked and trying to convince Dumbledore that he was not a madman. Harry smiled at the memory of him and Hermione laughing in the cottage while the fire flickered merrily.

He found some mostly unwrinkled clothes and draped them over a chair outside the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stripped, and waited patiently whilst the water ran brown, then green, then purple, and finally clear. Hoping it was warm, he jumped in, grabbing the dingy soap that the Leaky Cauldron had provided. He wanted to wash away the memory of Ron’s death, even though he had been trying for four years and had been unsuccessful so far.

On the night he had killed Ron, Harry had also died in the Forbidden Forest. The Dark Lord had killed him and the Death Eaters had celebrated while Harry lay on the forest floor and dreamt of swirling mist. He had awoken on the ground alone. The Dark Lord had abandoned his body to the Acromantula after assuring himself, his followers and enemies of Harry’s death. Harry had woken up just in time to escape from the descendents of Hagrid’s friend.

Harry had known from the moment he woke up that night that his Horcrux was gone. He had told Hermione when she had found them and they had their own quiet celebration. They had thought they had won.

But they had missed one, or maybe more. Neither he nor Hermione had never been sure how many Horcruxes Voldemort had made. Harry had awoken too late to fight Voldemort, though Voldemort’s body had been destroyed, temporarily.

Neville had got close enough to kill Voldemort, aided by Ginny, Luna, and a few others who had been in the DA. But Voldemort had not died, not even after Neville had sliced his body in half with Gryffindor’s sword, and had been easily resurrected by his followers a few days after the Battle of Hogwarts. After that, the trail of the Horcruxes had gone cold. No one knew how many he had made or what they were or where he had hidden them. And Harry’s brave friends had been tortured and killed.

But Hermione had found Harry in the forest that night and, after escaping together, they had tirelessly worked at finding a solution. Though they found some other objects that might have been Horcruxes, Voldemort just made more. He made one with each Order member he killed—and he killed them all. With each splitting of his soul, he became more deranged. Before, he had been content to let the Ministry operate with his puppets in positions of power. A year after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry was unrecognisable and the Dark Lord was King.

He and Hermione had gone into hiding. According to the world that he had left behind, Harry Potter was dead. His death brought a wave of grief across the wizarding world that Harry wished he could erase, but Hermione had insisted that it remain a secret. His friends were safer from the Dark Lord if everyone believed he was dead.

So Harry became a Muggle. It was surprisingly easy to accomplish. Hermione had had the idea to convert some of his money to pounds in a bank account under one of her false identities, and they posed as a young married couple and bought a house in the countryside. It was just a run-down cottage with no electricity and far off the beaten path, but they had done it up with magic and set up their lives there. Hermione had made it Unplottable and together they had cast every protective enchantment they had learned. Harry had cast the Fidelius Charm and hidden Hermione, whom the Death Eaters were still searching for, and so they had both effectively vanished.

Harry dried himself off with a scratchy towel. He waded through the small bathroom, foggy with steam from his shower. He toweled his hair partially dry as he waved his wand to clear the steamHe scrunched his hair the way Hermione had shown him and cast a Hot Air Charm on it before pulling on the dark blue robe.

Harry hoped the interview he’d requested with Dumbledore went well. He had to give these children enough skills to survive the first war before he could work out how to win the second.

* * *

For what might as well have been the thousandth time, Harry stood outside Dumbledore’s office. He shifted from foot to foot as he waited to meet the man who had meant so much to him and who had so shaped his childhood—the man he had watched die. Harry wished, desperately, that he was here just to face punishment for some schoolboy Gryffindor hijinks.

He’d Apparated five minutes ago to the edge of the castle’s boundaries, and had been greeted by a younger version of the Professor McGonagall he had known. He had held back tears as she shook his hand and she appraised him. “Mr Greene, welcome to Hogwarts,” she said. “Professor Dumbledore is most interested in making your acquaintance. I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House and Transfiguration professor.”

“Professor,” he replied with a nod. He could not bring himself to say anything else. He was worried his voice would squeak or something else embarrassing.

“I will take you to his office. Please follow me.” When she turned and beckoned for him to follow, he blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the tears from his eyes. He was never going to make it through the interview.

On the way to the Headmaster’s office, she had given him a brief history of the school, which Harry could not focus on, as he took in the sight of Hogwarts, whole again.

The Battle of Hogwarts had taken hundreds of lives and had devastated the school. Voldemort, content that Harry was dead and the school destroyed, had left it a ruin. The wreckage of Hogwarts served as a monument to his power. No students had attended school on British soil since that day.

When they arrived she simply said, “Wait here, Mr Greene. He will be down momentarily.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied.

And then he waited. He scuffed his foot on the floor and absentmindedly picked at a hangnail on his thumb. When he nibbled on it, he ripped the skin, and his thumb bled. How could so much blood could come from a tiny cut on his finger? Harry sucked at it in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He took it out and examined it as more blood flowed out. In a panic, he turned around looking for something to help but didn’t even know what he was looking for. How would he shake Dumbledore’s hand if it was covered in blood? He attempted to wipe it off on his robes, and then stuck his finger back in his mouth.

“Mr Greene?” Harry jumped and faced Dumbledore, his thumb still in his mouth. Dumbledore watched him with a thoughtful expression as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Harry cried. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me for an interview.” He cleared his throat and turned to the window. A few robins darted around in the air just outside. He focussed on them as his face flushed.

“Happy to!” Harry turned back towards Dumbledore. The Headmaster’s blue eyes twinkled, amused and kind, as he leaned towards Harry. “I am running rather low on applicants at the moment,” he said conspiratorially.

“Well, thanks all the same.”

“After you.” Dumbledore gestured to the stairway that led up to the Headmaster’s office and Harry went up to the familiar circular room and his eyes fell on the whirring silver instruments that emitted little puffs of smoke. He tried not to think about which ones he destroyed in his fit of rage after Sirius’s death.“Please have a seat. Would you care for some tea?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, please,” Harry replied. “Milk, no sugar.” He sat in one of the chairs and glanced around at the walls full of slumbering portraits of the previous headmasters. He sipped his tea and almost choked when he noticed the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. Harry put his cup down on the desk, and wrapped his robe around his bleeding finger. When Dumbledore offered him a chocolate biscuit, he accepted one with his other hand.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and took a bite. He smiled and met Dumbledore’s gaze, chewing. His smile faltered when he felt a subtle probing in his mind and he broke eye contact. He swallowed and said, “I would ask you to please refrain from using Legilimency, sir.” His voice came out harsher than he intended and the mood of the interview shifted. Harry cursed himself for being so stupid.

The Headmaster sighed. Dumbledore’s face was a grey sort of tired, with purple circles under his bright eyes. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose and Harry’s heart twinged in pity. But he mustn’t allow Dumbledore to delve into his mind, no matter the circumstances. Harry had another bite of his biscuit and waited.

“Of course, Mr Greene,” Dumbledore said after a moment. “I can understand that. Though at least I know that you might have some passing competency as a teacher. I hope you don’t fault me too much for trying, young man. Dark times, as I am sure you are aware. And as you appeared without so much as an OWL to your name, claiming to be a Defence Master, I thought it only prudent…” Dumbledore trailed off. He put his half-moon spectacles back on and silently admired Fawkes on his perch as if he were waiting for Harry to speak. The way that he was carefully avoiding eye contact with Harry reminded him of his behaviour during fifth year when Dumbledore was worried Voldemort was possessing him.

The silence stretched and then Harry gave in. “If you would let me do a quick demonstration?” he asked, reaching for his wand. Dumbledore nodded with a bemused expression on his face. Harry took out his holly wand and said, in a clear voice, “ _Expecto Patronum_.” His stag Patronus burst from the tip of his wand, beautiful and silvery. It galloped around the office before bowing once to the Headmaster and to Harry before vanishing.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said in a soft voice. “Nicely done indeed. And, as I am sure you are aware, as the general opinion is that only someone pure of heart can cast a corporeal Patronus, this makes it an excellent choice of spell for your demonstration.”

Harry shrugged. “We both know that ‘only the pure of heart’ stuff is a bunch of shit.” Harry gulped. “Sir,” he added.

Dumbledore gave Harry a small smile. “A truly Dark wizard could not produce a Patronus, however.”

“Yes, though I’ve known those without darkness but also without morals who could cast one,” Harry said, thinking of Umbridge. “But there is nothing I can really do to prove I’m not someone like that.” Harry shrugged. “I have my own reasons for being unwilling to submit myself to Legilimency. Or Veritaserum.”

“As we have already discussed,” Dumbledore said with a nod.

Harry put away his wand. “Though I do have something for you.” He withdrew a small paper bag. He tossed it at Dumbledore, who caught it easily, with surprisingly sharp reflexes for a man his age. “A bribe,” he said with a wry smile.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes locked onto him for a hard moment and Harry couldn’t recall that suspicion on his face before, not even in fifth year. But when Dumbledore opened the bag, he broke out into a smile and exclaimed, “Sherbet lemons!”

Harry was about to tell the Headmaster that he would not be offended if Dumbledore tested them for poisons or spells, but Dumbledore popped one into his mouth. His blue eyes twinkled at Harry and Harry’s entire body warmed in pleasure as if the fire had roared to life.

“Did it work?” Harry asked, with raised eyebrows.

And, to his surprise, Dumbledore laughed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all who have read so far! The next chapter will be in Snape's POV and the POVs will alternate chapters throughout the story.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to my lovely betas JocundaSkykes and zalil for all of their help! :)

Severus dropped his bag on the floor, pulled out a quill and parchment, and sat next to Avery, who was engaged in a conversation with Lestrange. Severus nodded at both of his fellow Slytherins and quietly waited to find out who Dumbledore had hired this year for Defence. It was odd that they were not at the Welcome Feast last night. After six years and six teachers, the last one dying during the final week of August under suspicious circumstances, the rumour that someone had cursed the position might have some truth to it. Each professor had been more incompetent than the last, and the few seventh years who had made it this far had all extensively studied on their own. Of course, Severus and his fellow Slytherins were more interested in the Dark Arts themselves, but Defence Against the Dark Arts was as close as they were allowed to study in any sort of official capacity.

A group of Gryffindors, led by Potter and Black, sauntered in, laughing together about some shared joke, and Severus sneered. The nerve of them—they were almost late. The lesson should begin in less than a minute and everyone else was seated. But of course, now that Potter was Head Boy, he felt like he was beyond such things such as being on time for lessons.

The class was smaller than in previous years. There were just two Hufflepuffs, though all the Ravenclaws had gained the necessary grades to attend. The Ravenclaws filled the front row whilst the Slytherins occupied a group of seats near the door.

“We saved you a seat! James, Sirius, over here!” Pettigrew squeaked. Severus had no idea how that dimwitted idiot had scraped together an Exceeds Expectations, but since he was a Gryffindor, Dumbledore had probably just signed a note.

Severus scribbled the date angrily on the top of his parchment. Pettigrew and the werewolf sat on the other side of the classroom beside the window. Even in the sunlight, the werewolf’s skin was pale. His shoulders hunched over his desk, his eyes were vacant and staring. The full moon had just begun waning two days before the start of term. Severus barely stopped a shudder.

James slapped the werewolf on the shoulder as he slid into the seat behind him, startling a brief smile out of him. “Perk up, Moony, we’re the first class to meet the new professor.” The werewolf shrugged and gazed out the window.

Severus wished the Gryffindors would stop talking. So far the only thing he hated about being a seventh-year was that he shared all of his NEWT lessons with the other houses as the advanced classes were so small.

The door swung open to reveal a man wearing trim-fitting burgundy robes. Though the quality was not on a par with Lestrange’s, it was better than anything Severus could afford. The wizard had long black hair that fell almost to his shoulders and curled slightly. As he turned to face the students, a Hufflepuff girl in the front row gasped.

A long, jagged scar stretched from the top of his forehead, across his nose, and ended at his chin on the opposite side. Where it sliced through an eyebrow, no hair grew, and his nose and cheek were disjointed, as if they had not quite been stitched together correctly. If someone held a mirror to his face, the two sides would not have matched. Yet his strong jaw, high cheekbones, and bright green eyes carried the disfigurement well.

Severus recognised the scar for what it was: a curse scar. He sat up straighter in his chair. Perhaps this lesson wouldn’t be a complete waste of time, after all. And this new professor was only a few years older than him, perhaps in his early twenties. Their youngest teacher yet.

“I’m Professor Harry Greene,” he said. He did not smile. He placed a shoebox-sized box on the desk at the front of the classroom. It was wooden and painted red, and was shut with a hook. Faint scratching noises came from inside.

Professor Greene looked around the room slowly, making eye contact with each of the seventh years. Did Severus imagine it, or did he hold his own eyes for a fraction longer than anyone else’s? The professor's lips pressed into a thin line and his expression darkened. Severus wondered if he had heard the rumours about him, the rumours that had been following him since he entered Hogwarts, about how he dabbled in Dark Magic. But Severus saw darkness flickering behind the professor’s eyes and then hoped that Greene had heard of him.

“Sir, welcome to Hogwarts. Please allow me to introduce myself,” Lestrange said. “Rodolphus Lestrange.” Greene did not respond other than to nod. Lestrange continued. “‘Greene’, is there any relationship to the Greengrass family?” His tone was light, innocent—but Severus and the other Slytherins knew the weight of it.

Greene smirked and drew out his wand. He flicked it once, and the box behind him sprung open. Slowly, a rat crawled out. The professor flicked his wand again, enlarging the rat to about the size of a house cat. As Greene turned towards the rat, he casually answered Lestrange, “No relation.” Was Severus imagining it, or was there a hint of amusement in his voice? Greene continued, “But thank you for volunteering, Mr Lestrange. Could you please name one of the three Unforgivable Curses?”

Rodolphus, of course, could have named them all and delivered a thirty-minute speech about their history, properties, uses, and the legality of them. “Yes, sir,” he said promptly. “There is the Cruciatus Curse. It is commonly referred to as the ‘torture curse.’ When cast successfully, the curse will inflict excruciating pain on the unfortunate victim. Because there is no physical manifestation of the pain, prolonged use can cause madness.”

“Very good, Mr Lestrange. Five points to Slytherin,” Greene said. He walked behind the desk and, after glancing around the room, turned back to the rat and raised his wand.

“Sir! Sir, please! You can’t possibly mean to…” Severus knew Evans was speaking without having to turn.

Greene cast a Sticking Charm on the desk so the rat couldn’t escape. “Couldn’t possibly mean to, what? Miss…?” he asked, voice level and unconcerned.

“Evans,” she supplied. “Sir, that is Dark Magic. They are unforgivable curses. You can’t just perform them on animals.“Professor Dumbledore would never allow it.” Severus could see, in his mind’s eye without having to look, how Lily—Evans—had creased her eyebrows in a stubborn frown.

“Miss Evans, I presume you know that it was Professor Dumbledore who hired me? That he interviewed me himself?”

“Well, sir, I suppose so.”

“And that he reviewed my syllabus, not just for this class, but for all of my classes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I would like to add that we discussed this lesson extensively over tea, just two days ago. Whatever you may think about the legality of them, the fact remains that there is an ever-increasing probability that you might face them yourself.”

Nobody spoke.

“Wouldn’t it be better to witness them here for the first time, in a controlled environment, rather than on the field?” Greene asked. “Professor Dumbledore and I discussed the necessity of being able to identify the curses and we agree that the best way is first hand.”

“But sir,” Evans continued. “The poor rat.” The Hufflepuffs shifted in their seats. Avery smirked.

Greene raised his eyebrows. “This is one rat. How many animals do you eat a year? Are we not, as humans, more important than one rat? Isn’t our learning—learning that might save several of your lives—more important than the life of a rat?”

Lestrange turned and nodded once at Avery and Severus, a smug expression on his face. “Indeed,” Lestrange whispered.

“But sir, it’s an innocent creature.” Evans was nothing if not determined.

Greene held up a hand to stave off further protests. “Those too squeamish to continue may drop this subject at any time. But I will warn you that once you leave, there will be no readmittance. There’s a war going on outside these walls, Miss Evans. My job is to make sure you can survive it.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead where the scar began. “But perhaps we can demonstrate a different Unforgivable Curse. Do you have another suggestion, Miss Evans?”

Relief flooded her voice. “Please, yes. The Imperius Curse. It’s an Unforgivable because it allows the caster to have complete control over the victim. It removes free will.”

Greene had leant against the blackboard as she spoke. When she finished, he straightened up and stepped towards the desk. The rat waited, its beady eyes shining. “Excellent, Miss Evans. Five points to Gryffindor!” He raised his wand at the rat. “ _Imperio_.” The rat jumped up on its hind legs and immediately danced an elaborate ballet. It pirouetted across the desk, bowed, and then spun slowly in a circle. Even the Hufflepuffs laughed. Greene released the spell and the rat returned to a normal position with all four paws on the desk.

Severus took a moment to survey the room. The other students were enjoying the lesson, except for Pettigrew for some reason, who frowned at the rat. The boy gnawed on the end of his quill.

“Yes, Miss Evans,” Greene said. “That was a much better start to the lesson. However amusing it was to watch the rat dance like a ballerina, I doubt very much any of you would appreciate it if I cast the spell on you and made you do the same.”

A trickle of ice went up Severus's back. Surely, Greene did not mean to cast it on them. That was still unquestionably illegal—the Headmaster’s influence would only go so far. But if Greene did cast the spell, would Severus be able to throw it off? He had never practised with the Imperius Curse as he didn’t trust anyone enough to let them perform it on him.

“Can anyone tell me why this amusing spell is an Unforgivable? Of course, the loss of free will would be disconcerting. But why is it unforgivable?” Greene asked. “Yes, Mr—”

“Lupin.”

“Mr Lupin, please enlighten us.”

“Because you could force your victim to commit unspeakable acts and no one would know they were not to blame. You could take over their body and make them murder their family,” the werewolf said. Of course.

“Quite right. And who would be charged with the crime? There’s no evidence. I could make the rat jump out the window and drown itself in the lake. I could make the rat eat its family, its babies. I could make it attack every single person in this room.” He paused and his green eyes flashed towards the Slytherins. “If I wished.”

“But sir, it’s possible to fight against the Imperius Curse, isn’t it?” the seventh year Ravenclaw Chaterton asked.

“Yes, if you have enough practise, you could,” Greene said. “I have fought the Imperius Curse off many times.” Avery and Mulciber shared a glance. “And I am quite successful at it. Even the first time, when my teacher cast it on me at fourteen, I could fight it off.” He shrugged whilst the students shifted in their seats. “Don’t worry, the Ministry would have my job before I’d even begun if I were to cast it on you.”

His tone of voice was reassuring, but Severus noticed it did not reach his eyes. Greene went on, “Now, let’s return to the Cruciatus Curse. I will warn you that I intend to perform it now. I will give everyone a moment to steel their nerves and think carefully about whether or not they have the strength to bear witness.”

Severus sat up straighter. The Cruciatus Curse? During the summer he never dared to risk any sort of magic amongst the Muggles, and at Hogwarts he never dared to risk casting Dark Magic in case he was detected. He and the other Slytherins were eager, and perhaps so were some of the Ravenclaws, from a sort of dispassionate academic standpoint. But Marianne Witherden from Hufflepuff grabbed her books and bag and stood up and walked out of the classroom. The rest of the room was tense. Severus was surprised that Potter and his silly group had had nothing to say so far.

“Very well. _Crucio_.” He spoke in a normal, even tone. The rat collapsed on the desk, writhing shrieking. Severus was transfixed.

“Sir! Please!” a voice cried out. The rat went on squeaking. If rats could scream, it would be screaming. “Please!” more students said together.

Greene lifted his wand and released the rat from his spell. He laid his wand on the desk next to the quaking rat, whose chest was heaving with laboured breaths.

Nobody spoke. Greene waved his hand—and Severus was quick to note that it was wandless magic, as his wand was still on the desk—and shrunk the rat again. He then levitated and sent it back into the wooden box. The hook slid in, securing the rat inside.

The remaining Hufflepuff, two blonde Ravenclaw sisters, and another Ravenclaw boy all stood up and walked out of the room. Pettigrew followed, the lone dissenter from Gryffindor. Severus watched Greene’s face as he watched the students fleeing from his classroom. He could have sworn something like triumph flickered in his professor’s green eyes. Retching noises drifted in from the hallway, but Greene ignored them and turned back to the class.

“And the final curse? Can anyone tell me which curse remains?”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“The Killing Curse,” Potter said. “No one has ever survived it.”

Greene looked at Potter. “Yes, exactly right. Mr…?”

“Potter. James Potter.” Severus was sure Potter had never looked so serious before.

“Correct, Mr Potter,” Greene replied. “There’s no known method of blocking the Killing Curse. And your house?”

“Gryffindor, sir.”

“Five points to Gryffindor.” His eyes lingered on Potter with a contemplative expression. “I am not going to perform the Killing Curse. Those who have read about it know it casts a green light. We will talk more about how to identify it at a later date.

“Before I see you next Monday, I would like eleven inches on the theory of the proper application of Unforgivable Curses. It is a moral argumentative essay in which I expect you to use your logical reasoning skills as well as your knowledge of the curses themselves.” The Ravenclaws nodded. “The title is: Under what conditions, if any, is the use of an Unforgivable Curse justified?” Greene waved his hand at the blackboard and the question appeared. Severus scribbled it down on his blank sheet of parchment. He had not taken a single note all class.

Greene cleared his throat. Severus had never been in a more silent lesson, except for the time when they had collectively dozed off to one of Binns’s lectures. “One last announcement. I will be training a select number of seventh-year students in a private Defence Against the Dark Arts study group.” The Ravenclaws perked up. “I can’t promise any subject matter covered will be relevant to your NEWTs.” Severus wondered what purpose it would serve then, but Greene did not elaborate. “After I evaluate your essay, those who receive an O will be eligible. I expect a small group.” He smiled, his first of the lesson.

“Sir, have you—” Evans began.

“Yes, I’ve already obtained permission for the group from Professor Dumbledore,” Greene said. “You are dismissed.”

Severus and the rest of the seventh years grabbed their bags and filed towards the door. As he was leaving, Greene turned and said, “And Mr Black?”

Severus lingered outside the door. He reshuffled his parchment and told Avery to go on to Ancient Runes. Had Black even spoken in class? How did Greene know his name?

“Yes, sir. How may I help you?” Black asked, more respectfully than Severus expected of him. Potter and Evans strolled out of the classroom holding hands and Severus’s lip curled. The werewolf had gone out with the first group, chatting with Mary Grant from Ravenclaw, and Black was the only student remaining.

“Mr Black, I just wanted to tell you that I found your lovely gift on my chair, and, whilst I appreciate the gesture, I forwarded the present onto someone more deserving,” Greene said.

“Oh?” Black replied innocently. “I can’t say I remember sending a gift.” Greene remained silent. After a moment, Black asked, “If I may—who did you send it to? Sir.”

“Professor Slughorn, of course. I sent it to his chair in the Great Hall.” Black made a strangled sound. “Though I doubt he’ll even notice a whoopee cushion when he sits down. The noise it emits can’t be much different.” Greene smiled and rested his hand on Black’s shoulder.

Black laughed and said, “He might notice this one. It shoots sparks.”

Greene emitted a low, raspy sound that took Severus a while to place as a chuckle. “Most interesting! In that case, we should both be sure to be on time for lunch today! Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Black said. He came through the door still smiling, but it turned to a sneer at the sight of him. “Snivellus.”

Severus wanted to hex him but instead spun on his heel and walked away without a word.

* * *


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to JocundaSykes and zalil for all of their help!

Harry still did not know the real reason Dumbledore had chosen to trust him. Before he had left, Hermione had discussed options for a more in-depth revelation, perhaps something to do with a Pensieve memory, but Dumbledore had surprised him and hired him on the spot. The Headmaster had finished his third lemon drop while Harry outlined his proposed lesson plans and passed over his seventh-year syllabus. Dumbledore had raised one eyebrow at the first week’s lesson, which included a demonstration of two of three Unforgivable Curses.

“We’re at war,” Harry had said simply and, after a moment, Dumbledore had nodded.

He had given Harry a small suite of rooms, a calendar of mandatory faculty meetings and events such as Quidditch matches, and told he should expect the students on the first of September. It had been entirely too easy. Knowing Dumbledore as Harry had, it made him suspicious.

He sat and pondered Dumbledore while he graded some essays from his Ravenclaw third-years. Or avoided grading. He had requested eight inches and received no less than sixteen from any of them and now understood why professors set a limit. He and Ron would never have done more than the bare minimum, though after having Hermione as a friend, he should have expected that a word limit was necessary.

In many ways, his new room reminded him of his dormitory at Hogwarts. The same style four-poster bed stood in the centre of his bedroom and a big comfortable couch sat in front of the fire in the living room. There were ancient magical tapestries of unknown origin hanging around both the living room and bedroom, and the same style of furniture that existed throughout the school. Dark wood, dark carpet, and two roaring fires.

Harry assumed it was customary for all teachers to receive suites, but he had never been inside any of the other teacher’s rooms to be sure. He had a bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, a sitting room, and a small space that Harry figured was supposed to function as a kitchen, where a sink and counter and something that resembled something like an old-fashioned Muggle cool box but was very obviously magical.

The sitting room had enough room for a couch and a few squashy chairs, a dark brown coffee table and a desk that had come stocked with parchment, quills, and ink. There were two cosy fireplaces, one in the living room and one in the bedroom. Harry had immediately lit both despite the warm late summer temperature. But the best feature was that he had an unobstructed view of the lake from the many windows that lined one wall. He assumed they were spelled so that someone flying passed on a broom could not see inside. His heart gave a pang as he wished for his Firebolt. He hadn’t flown since his seventeenth birthday, when Moody, George, Hagrid, and Hedwig had lost their lives.

He gave up on grading and curled up on his couch, fighting the temptation to sample some of the alcohol that the other faculty members had sent him as welcoming presents. A knock sounded on his door. He stood up, straightening his robes, and walked over to the door. He had a momentary panic at the sight of Filch standing in the hallway, his face red with anger. “Students out of bed, Professor Greene. They were outside your corridor. Thought you ought to know,” he said.

Of course! He wasn’t in trouble. He was a teacher, someone to whom Filch went to when students were in trouble. Harry summoned his sternest teacher tone. “Very good. Where are they now?”

“My office. I had to tie them up to keep them there, but used the new ropes. They’re very smooth,” Filch reassured him.

Sighing, Harry said, “Very well. Lead the way,”

When they arrived in Filch’s office, Harry sighed again. Two Hufflepuff first years sat terrified and tied to the two chairs in Filch’s office. He waved his hand and wordlessly released their ropes. “Mr McGrady and Mr Jones, please explain why you were out of bed after curfew.”

He listened to them with half an ear. It had been a long time since young Harry had found that Kwikspell letter on Filch’s desk. One of the boys was in the middle of explaining something about the kitchen when a piece of parchment caught Harry’s eye. It stuck out of the filing cabinet, which was so full of confiscated objects that it did not close all the way.

“And so you see, professor,” McGrady said. “We had to run to the kitchen. They’re right next to our dormitories. We were only out of bed for ten minutes.”

“There is no excuse to be out of bed after curfew,” he told the boys. Filch huffed in agreement. Harry said, “That will be ten points from Hufflepuff. Each.” Their faces crumpled in dismay, and he figured that plus the terror from Filch was enough to satisfy his teacherly duty. “You’re dismissed. Head back to your dormitories.”

The two boys scurried out like frightened mice. “Professor, beggin’ your pardon, but they were out of bed. After hours. Surely such a crime warrants a more severe sort of punishment,” Filch complained, as though the two boys were murdering cats for fun in the Great Hall.

“Indeed?” Harry asked. He stood and casually made his way over to the bursting filing cabinet.

“The old ways have fallen out of fashion. Students have no respect these days,” Filch said. “But back in the old days, when we used chains—”

Harry sensed a diatribe coming on and held up a hand.

“What’s this?” He pulled out the familiar parchment.

“Joke parchment,” Filch explained. “Confiscated it this morning. Insults whoever tries to read it.”

“Hmm,” Harry murmured. He tried not to act too interested. “Mind if I borrow it? It might have some Dark Magic. I should investigate it.” He met Filch’s eyes. “Excellent work spotting it.”

“I knew it!” Filch said gleefully. “Simply oozing with Dark Magic. I could feel it the moment I touched it.”

“Yes, yes,” Harry agreed, though of course, Filch would not know magic if it bit him on his nose. “Very good of you to bring it to my attention. Professor Dumbledore was right. You’re an asset to Hogwarts.” Filch stood, nonplussed, blocking the doorway. “Goodnight!” Harry said and casually moved him out of the way.

Once in the hallway, he shoved the Marauder’s Map into a pocket in his robe and made his way back to his rooms. He replaced the ward on his door and took the map out and spread it on his desk. He touched the parchment with his wand and whispered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

At once, thin ink lines spread like a spider’s web from the tip of his wand, and like an old friend, Hogwarts appeared. He found his dot and read Harry Potter beside it. Laughing, he stood and poured himself some of the scotch that McGonagall had gifted him. He hoped that his dad’s gang had been as observant as he had been when it had taken him months to notice Bartemius Crouch, Jr on the map. Which is to say, not very observant at all.

* * *

Harry worried about the map for the next day but, after using some subtle Legilimency, did not detect any suspicion from his dad’s friends, and set the matter aside. Classes passed easily, and he found himself settling into his role naturally. He would occasionally read a name that he recognised as being one of the many casualties from the first war and, while it was hard to then place that name and knowledge on a young student, he had grown accustomed to tragedy.

Just before dusk, Harry went for a run. It had been a few weeks since he had come to Hogwarts and had only been out running a handful of times. He aimed to go early before the students were up, but he had never really been much of a morning person and he did enjoy the physical exertion after a long day.

He pulled on his T-shirt and gym shorts before he changed his mind and chickened out. The cut of shorts was much higher in the Muggle world during this time. He could not quite bring himself to wear the 70s short-shorts, but his more customary baggy shorts would not work either. He had settled on what he hoped was a happy medium between the two eras. The t-shirt fit snugger than it had when he had bought it, and Harry hoped it was because of the weight training that he was also doing, but acknowledged it was probably because he had been eating well since he had arrived at Hogwarts.

He had sent an owl to buy some additional clothes the moment he received his first wages and had bought some more formal teacher robes, a few casual robes for weekends, and then the work out clothes. Harry had stayed sane during the years he’d been in hiding and on the run by literally running. He desired to run farther that had led him to work with the wards around their various camps, extending them so he could run about a half a mile before he had to loop back. Whenever he was not practising wandless magic, checking the defensive wards, or keeping house, he was running.

The cottage that he and Hermione had bought had been very remote, far away from even from the sleepy Muggle village nearest to it. And on twenty acres, they had had plenty of room. He had hated being trapped there at the time—they both had—but he only had fond memories of it now. At least he had not had anyone to gawk at him. He made his way out onto the grounds and, since the weather had turned chilly and it was a school night and the students were probably inside doing their homework, there was no one around. Here goes nothing, he thought as he took off on a modest jog around the lake.

The physical exertion rejuvenated and distracted him and he lost track of his surroundings. Only once he was next to the Forbidden Forest, nearly at the path that he had walked on to meet Voldemort, that he stopped running, dread sinking in his stomach. The trees were different, some smaller, and some bigger ones that would not be there in 1997. But the forest was ancient and mostly unchanged, and Harry knew that path beyond a shadow of a doubt. He stood staring at the forest for a long moment before he swallowed a lump in his throat and continued back towards Hogwarts, turning his mind to teaching.

The sixth- and seventh-years turned in their essays and he was working his way through grading them. The sixth-years had been assigned an open-ended essay with the subject, “What magic is considered to be Dark and why?” Harry had not impressed himself with the question, but it was providing for interesting essays. Mostly he was using it as an excuse to invite those who would be members of the Order in the near future to learn some extra skills. There were some names he did not recognise that had provided excellent essays, and he would invite them as well.

The seventh years had had a more serious assignment. He wanted to analyse how some of them thought about the Unforgivable Curses. The curses were infamous: the epitome of Dark Magic, and Harry had asked them to justify use of them. The Slytherins had taken to the assignment well, though Harry was repulsed by Mulciber and Rosier’s justifications. Very ‘for the greater good’. Snape’s essay had been the best out of the Slytherins, which made sense as Snape had always wished for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position.

His father had surprised him. He had half expected him to blow the essay off, like Sirius did, because he disagreed so heavily with the use of Dark Magic under any circumstances. But he had taken the assignment to heart and had done a more than a passable job on the essay. He was not Head Boy for nothing, and Harry had to admit to himself that he was relieved. He had been worried about running into the James Potter of Snape’s memories, but instead he had got someone more mature and less prone to smug violence.

His mother and Lupin had done well too, but Harry had always known that they were talented students, and they proved to be more level headed than Sirius. He would invite James, Lily and Remus for sure. Harry wanted to invite Sirius as well, but he had put no effort into the essay. He would have to come up with another excuse.

Harry finished his run after another lap around the lake and headed back up towards Hogwarts. He climbed the stone steps and found McGonagall waiting for him next to the large oak front doors. She raised one eyebrow at his appearance and he tugged the bottom of his shorts down, trying to conceal his thighs. He figured exercise was sort of a Muggle thing and shrugged at the silent question. “It helps me concentrate,” he said.

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” McGonagall said with a deliberate once-over. Harry almost choked on air. He coughed and blushed furiously. He still was not used to his teachers treating him like, well, not a student.

“Er…” he said. He stared at his trainers, unable to meet her eyes.

McGonagall laughed. And laughed. It went on for a rather long time, and Harry snuck a glance at her and saw her wiping tears from her eyes. He wished he could Apparate away. “Forgive me, Professor Greene,” she said after she regained her composure. “That was too easy. Never fear, dear Greene, you’re quite safe from me.”

“Was there something you needed, Professor?” Harry asked. His voice sounded a little petulant to his ears, and he bit the inside of his cheek as McGonagall’s face broke out into another wide smile.

She kept her composure this time and replied, “Professor Miller found a Boggart in one of the wardrobes in his classroom. He has quite a few he doesn’t go through regularly, apparently, and he mentioned it to me after dinner. I remembered you had asked the other professors to let you take charge if one were found, so I told him to wait a bit and that I would let you know.”

Harry smiled. “Yes, perfect, I will include it in my third-year lessons next week. I’m doing an entire unit on Dark creatures with them,” he said.

“Very good,” McGonagall said. She eyed him with something like approval. From what the other teachers had told him, he was the most competent Defence professor that Hogwarts had had for a while, a fact that caused him to swell with pride. “I told him I would send you up right away. He’s rather too fearful to go to bed, but he said you could have the whole wardrobe if you took care of it tonight.”

“Perfect, I’ll head up now,” Harry said. He and McGonagall started walking toward the doors to Hogwarts and, once inside, were confronted with a group of Hufflepuff fifth-year girls on their way from the library. Their eyes went wide and they scurried off.

“Oh, and Professor Greene?” McGonagall said in a light tone.

“Yes?”

“You might want to change first,” she said with an evil smirk. He flushed a deep red, impossible to hide in the bright torchlight. McGonagall cackled as she left him standing at the bottom of the staircase. Harry took her advice and headed to his rooms first. He threw a cloak on over his running clothes before heading up to Professor Miller’s rooms in the tower.

Douglas Miller, Professor of Divination, was very grateful to have his help. He was an old man, even older than perhaps than Dumbledore, with a crooked spine that pointed to scoliosis. As Harry levitated the wardrobe containing the Boggart down the stairs, he wondered vaguely if there was a magical treatment for the disease and Miller had just chosen not to be treated, or if there was a treatment that Muggles had figured out through surgery but wizards were unaware.

Miller was not much more competent than Trelawney, but he also had not predicted that Harry would die terribly and painfully and had thanked him enthusiastically when Harry agreed to take the Boggart. Harry bid him goodnight, stashed the wardrobe in his Defence classroom after warding it to prevent the Boggart from escaping and from any curious student from coming across unexpectedly.

As he was falling asleep that night, he remembered McGonagall’s reaction. After a few hours to calm his embarrassment, he reflected that he was more amused by what had happened than anything. Maybe I’ll go swimming, he thought to himself with a grin. That’ll give them something to talk about.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay so there is a scene that could be potentially triggering, so I added warning for this chapter. Please read the note at the end if you feel you might need a bit of a heads-up for the subject matter.
> 
> Thank you so much to JocundaSykes and zalil for all of their help!!

As per usual with the start of the new semester, rumours were flying about the new Defence professor. The Slytherins had a silent agreement of respect towards him. The seventh year’s lesson had been shared around in whispers and, combined with Greene’s general competency in the other lessons, they had determined that anyone willing to perform a Dark curse deserved the chance to prove himself worthy of their respect. And he had been fair so far to the Slytherins, as far as awarding points, something that was uncommon amongst even more experienced professors.

No one knew where he had come from or anything about his family line. There was no ‘Greene’ amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight, of course, but he might have had a lesser-known pureblood lineage, not unlike Severus's heritage on his Prince side. Neither Lestrange nor Avery had discovered anything about his family and well-versed in pureblood lineages.

The seventh years had submitted their essays and Severus had put an extensive amount of effort into it. He wanted to prove himself worthy of the Defence Club, hoping secretly it would be more of a Dark Arts Club. No one had been brave enough to ask Greene about his scar.

He was sitting in the Slytherin common room working on a particularly difficult Transfiguration essay when one of the other seventh years, Rosier, had tapped him on the shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off but heard a subtle whispering flowing through the common room. “What is it?” Severus asked, his voice showing his irritation at being interrupted.

“Someone just saw Professor Greene swimming in the lake,” Rosier said.

None of the other seventh years cared, not even Lestrange, so Severus allowed Avery to drag him out of the dungeons. “He’s probably gone mad or something,” Avery said as they tried to find a window with a good view of the lake.

“Anyone who chooses to teach here is mad. It’s the most important qualification of employment, according to Dumbledore,” Snape replied. He was interested to discover what Greene was up to, however, so he followed Avery down the hallway.

The sun glinted on the water as it made its way below the horizon. Severus examined at the lake and, just as Avery said, “I don’t see anything!” Greene emerged from the water. He swam towards the shore and made his way onto the beach. The last golden rays of sunlight played across his bare torso, highlighting more scars, though none as deep as the one on his face. Greene was surprisingly muscular, with well-defined abs and biceps. His shorts clung to his thick thighs as he took a few steps towards his pile of clothes. He pulled the T-shirt over his head and picked up his trainers as if he planned on carrying them as he walked back towards the school.

He turned to the windows where Avery and Severus stood staring at him. Severus expected anger at being spied upon, but instead, he gave them a hearty wave and continued on the path. His face was flushed and his long hair was swept back. It appeared much longer wet.

Avery waved back and then said to Severus, “Oops. I should’ve realised that he’d have a clear view of us through the window since it’s almost dark out there and the lights are all on in here.” He shrugged. “It’s fine. We’ll ask him about it next time we see him.”

Severus did not allow himself to dwell much on Greene for the rest of the night and stubbornly refused to acknowledge the way his breathing sped up whenever his disobedient mind produced the image of Greene’s bare chest.

* * *

Sunday morning came and Severus had his nose buried in a restricted section book that he had borrowed with Slughorn’s easily obtained permission slip. He read and walked into the Entrance Hall. The benefit of being a tall, unlikeable seventh year with a reputation was that the other students got out of his way.

He was on his way to breakfast when Avery grabbed his arm just outside the Great Hall. “Slug Club tonight, are you going?” Avery asked.

“Most certainly not,” Severus replied and pointedly kept reading his book.

“Snape, come on! It’s the first one of the year! It should be fun. Remember last year when someone snuck in Ogden’s Old Firewhisky and Slughorn didn’t say anything?”

“You mean, when you brought Firewhisky and gave it to all of the Slytherins and Slughorn thought we were all just having an extra good time that night?” Severus snorted. “Please. I would rather pull out my toenails and use them as an ingredient in a potions experiment than attend another Slughorn travesty.”

“Ah, don’t say that, Mr Snape,” said a low voice behind him and Severus turned to find himself face to face with Professor Greene. He was surprised to find that he was taller than Greene. The professor was so powerful magically and had such a physical presence during his lectures, that the fact that he was a couple of inches shorter caught him off guard. Greene held up an envelope with ‘Professor Harry Greene’ written in dark purple ink on the front. “I just received an invitation myself. I was planning on attending.”

“See Snape? It’s not all bad,” Avery said and shoved him with his shoulder. He looked back at Greene. “Were you swimming in the lake last night, Professor Greene?” Severus froze in embarrassment at the directness of the question, unable to believe that Avery had just asked him plainly like that.

Greene just laughed. “Yeah, well, I went for a run around the lake and then figured it would be fun to take a dip. It’s going to be too cold soon. It was refreshing, actually. You should try it!”

“Really?” Severus said and immediately wished he had said something more clever.

“Indeed. But perhaps I won’t attend this party tonight, Mr Snape, if you think it will be such a trial.” He turned towards Avery with a slight frown. “Also, Mr Avery, while I had a sudden momentary deafness just before Mr Snape’s statement about his toenails, I must warn you am not prone to such incidents and my hearing is quite excellent normally.” He eyed Avery. “Do you understand?”

Avery had the good grace to look ashamed after realising Greene had heard to his confession about the Firewhisky. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Very well. Then I would like to ask to have a private word with Mr Snape. I will see you in class, Mr Avery.”

“Yes, sir.”

Greene’s hand grabbed his arm as he gently steered him into the corner of the corridor. Slytherins were not much for casual physical contact, the exception being Avery only because he ignored all proper decorum about personal boundaries, and he raised his eyebrows.

Greene noticed his expression and removed his hand. “Beg your pardon, Mr Snape. I just wanted to have a quick word away from prying ears.”

Snape nodded and then, after a moment’s consideration, flicked his wand and murmured, “ _Muffliato_.” Some teachers might find fault with a student using untested magic or experimenting with charms, but he figured that this spell was a defensive charm and harmless. He risked it and was gratified when Greene smiled.

“Interesting charm, your own?” Severus nodded. “Yes, it causes a simple buzzing sound in the ears of those around us, thus obfuscating private conversations.”

“Useful,” Greene said. He stared at him for a long moment, lost in thought, then he blinked and pulled out some parchment from his bag. Severus recognised his essay. “I just wanted to congratulate you. A grade well earned.”

Severus took the proffered essay and glanced at the grade on the top before putting it in his bag. O. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me. You don’t know what sort of rubbish I have to grade normally,” he said with a chuckle. “But I wanted to invite you personally to join my Defence Club. It won’t be like the Slug Club, I promise,” he added with a wry smile. “It’s not official yet, but I do have the first lesson planned. I expect to send out notes sometime after Hallowe’en. We’ll be learning the Patronus Charm.” Greene’s eyes searched his face. “I think you’ll be able to manage it rather well.”

And how was he supposed to respond to that? Surely by this point, one of the loudmouthed Gryffindors or even one of the other teachers had warned Greene about Severus’s affiliation with Dark Magic. Did he dare try to cast a Patronus?

“I would consider it a privilege to join, sir,” Severus replied. He schooled his face into a neutral expression and after a moment he said, “And sir, please don’t let my earlier statement about the Slug Club persuade you to not attend the dinner tonight. The get-togethers are enjoyed by many, both students and staff.”

“But not by you?” Greene asked and smirked at the expression on Severus's face. “Oh, don’t worry. I know exactly what it will be like. But I don’t have any other plans so I figured that watching Slughorn try to whittle personal information out of me while forcing me to rub elbows with the sort-of-rich and kind-of-famous would be better than grading.”

Severus smirked back. “You’ve got exactly the right idea about it, sir. But if you are determined to go, I suppose I will make an effort to attend as well.” He regretted the statement immediately and his stomach dropped.

But instead, Greene exclaimed, “Good!” and made an abortive motion to place his hand on Severus's shoulder but stopped just shy of touching him. Severus told himself he was not disappointed. “See you tonight!” He said as he turned and walked down the hallway.

* * *

Severus was not nervous. He assured himself of this as he tried on his fifth and last casual robe. They were all several years out of style and the hems were frayed, but at least this one had sleeves that reached his wrists. The dark green was probably too on the nose for a Slytherin, but it was a warm shade of green and flattered his complexion. Or at least that was what he hoped. Severus smoothed down the front and, with a last look in the mirror, headed to the common room to meet up with Avery and Lestrange.

The two other Slytherins were deep in conversation when he arrived in the common room but stopped when he approached them. “Shall we?” Lestrange said. Severus did a half-bow of deference to Lestrange to indicate that he was ready. It was the sort of oddly formal gesture that Lestrange liked, and he nodded in return before he stood up and led the way down to the dungeons.

Avery hung back and said, “I don’t know what’s going on with him. He is in a silent mood for some reason. You know how he gets, all broody and quiet. I’m glad you decided to come with us, though.”

“I felt it prudent to nurture any positive relations I have. Who knows what next year will bring for me. I might very well need one of Slughorn’s connections.”

They walked towards the dungeons in companionable silence, but Avery stopped in an out-of-the-way corridor before they reached the room where the Slug Club would be gathering. He gestured him towards a darker corner, careful to avoid getting too close to any portraits. They were deep in the dungeons and the only light came from the flicker of the torches against the wall. Avery ran his hand through his hair and, after a moment, said, “I might be able to set you up with something. You know, after we take our NEWTs.” Severus raised his eyebrows. This wasn’t an above-board meeting with some of his family friends, judging by his behaviour. Avery continued. “Just be patient. My father might be aligning himself with—ah—an old friend. If he does, I will too. As is my duty as heir.”

Severus had to force himself not to roll his eyes. The little lordling. “Indeed?”

“Yes.” Avery indicated the direction that Lestrange had vanished ahead of them. “Lestrange’s father has joined him. He will follow sometime after graduation.”

This was not news to Severus. The Dark Lord had been active in Britain for several years now and had several pureblood families standing behind him. The Dark Lord did nothing overt but there were ever-circulating rumours and strings of strange disappearances that had begun when the Dark Lord’s rose to prominence around the time that Severus had entered Hogwarts. Anyone who spoke against the Dark Lord took a great risk unless they were powerful, wealthy, and well-protected. Those with half-blood status, such as Severus himself, were expected to choose a side. But Severus suspected that the Sorting Hat had already chosen for him when it had placed him in Slytherin.

“I fail to see how this has anything to do with me,” Severus said.

“Don’t you?” Avery shot him a shrewd glance. “He can offer you many opportunities. Just think about it. Now, come on, I don’t want to be late.” He dragged Severus towards the party.

* * *

Severus hardly conversed with anyone before or after dinner and had regretted attending almost from the moment he walked in the door. He sat silently through the chitchat, nodding politely to those as he must, all the while mulling over Avery’s words. He did not like anyone at the party except perhaps Avery. _And Professor Greene_ , a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. Severus was standing as still as a stone next to the dessert table, wishing it were socially acceptable for him to leave, when Lestrange found him.

“Severus,” he whispered. His pupils were blown and his pale face was flushed. His dark hair, which usually sat perfectly combed on his head, was untidy. He had been drinking Firewhisky again. “Severus, come with me,” he told him.

Severus was torn between excitement and dread as he followed Lestrange into the dark corridor outside Slughorn’s office. They rounded the corner to a seldom-used hallway that dead-ended at a tapestry of the countryside. He and Lestrange had done this before. Had done this more than once, in fact, but always after Lestrange had been drinking. Severus did not have time to put up any sort of Anti-Intruder Jinxes before Lestrange turned around and attacked him.

The pureblood pinned him to the wall stone wall and started kissing him. It was sloppy and desperate and Severus tried to resist it but his knees turned to liquid and he found himself lacing his fingers in Lestrange’s hair with one hand whilst holding onto his solidly built shoulder with the other. His cock was hard in a moment and he bucked, helplessly, against Lestrange’s thigh, seeking contact. He felt an answering hardness and bucked again.

“On your knees, Snape,” Lestrange ordered. He was already pulling out his cock. Severus dropped to his knees and pushed Lestrange’s robes out of the way. He allowed himself a deep breath of Lestrange’s musky scent before licking the underside of the smooth head. “Oh,” Lestrange moaned as he leaned against the wall. Severus licked again, and then Lestrange seized him by the back of his head and shoved his cock in Severus's mouth.

Severus loved it. He loved the warmth of it, the smoothness of the head against his tongue. He loved the sounds Lestrange made as he pushed in and out of his mouth. He felt Lestrange’s need and felt powerful knowing that he could reduce the stoic Slytherin to this mumbling, desperate state. He had not quite worked around his gag reflex yet but reached up and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and, his hand slick with spit, began moving it in the same rhythm as his mouth.

“Fuck yes, you filthy half-blood. You like my cock, don’t you? You can’t get enough of this pureblood cock. You wish it were in your arse right now, don’t you. Ahhh.” Lestrange groaned.

Even as Severus tried not to roll his eyes, the words went straight to his cock. Lestrange normally had difficulty stringing a sentence together, but became verbose with vitriol when he was drunk on Firewhisky. And Severus liked it. This was a part of Lestrange that he kept hidden away.

His cock was hard under his robes and he reached down and pushed his hand against it. He moaned around Lestrange’s prick at the contact and wished he were in a good position to take his own cock out, or even that his pants did not fit so tightly. He rubbed himself through the thick fabric and wished he could touch himself properly whilst Lestrange used his mouth. That’s what he had done last time. The memory had visited him nightly for months.

“Yeah, touch yourself through your robes. I won’t touch you. You don’t deserve that. I’m just going to come on all over your face,” Lestrange said. He pulled his cock out of Severus's mouth and placed his hand over Severus's to encourage him to keep stroking. Severus wanted it. He did not even like Lestrange but he wanted him. “Merlin, I’m going to—” Lestrange moaned. Lestrange’s cock pulsed and closed his eyes. Something warm splattered across his face. He was breathless.

“Just what on earth is going on here?” Severus knew the voice in an instant. He opened his eyes. Professor Greene stood a short distance away, glowering at them. The torchlight flickered across his face, enhancing the scar and making him appear almost savage. “Fifty points from Slytherin,” he said. His voice was low and dangerous. Severus glanced at Lestrange, who had already put his prick away.

“Yes, sir,” Lestrange said with a bow. “I apologise—”

“No,” Greene said. “To say that this is inappropriate behaviour is an understatement, especially from a Prefect! You should know how wrong it is to engage in such behaviour publicly. I will be assigning a week’s worth of detention as well. For each of you.”

His eyes met Severus's. He wished he could fall down a hole. He wished the creature that lived in the lake would swallow him up. He wished, not for the first time, that he had never been born. “Yes, sir,” he managed to say. He could still feel the warm globs of ejaculate on his face.

“Lestrange, you are dismissed to your common room. Go straight there. Do not make me regret not awarding a harsher punishment.” Greene glared at Lestrange, who finally glanced at Severus. His expression shuttered closed at the sight of him and he said nothing to defend Severus. Nothing to indicate the power he wielded over him, nothing about how he had essentially ordered Severus into the hallway. Though he knew Severus was a willing participant, he did not indicate to Greene that this indiscretion had been Lestrange’s idea. He turned and walked away without another word.

“Mr Snape.” Severus could not bring himself to look at his professor. “Come here.” His voice was firm and so Severus stood, his knees aching from kneeling on the cold stone, and went to him. But he still could not look at Greene in the eye. “ _Scourgify_ ,” Greene whispered. Severus's face was clean.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. He stared down at his shoes. _I just want to die I just want to die I just want to die I just want to die I just want to die—_

“Come to my office.”

Greene turned and Severus had no choice but to follow.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning/Spoiler: There is a graphic fellatio scene in this chapter between Lestrange and Snape. It is consensual but also there is Slytherin politicking and a bit of a power play involved, so it sort of feels a little non-con, though I assure you that my Severus is a willing participant.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to zalil, my lovely beta, for your help with this chapter!

Harry should not have asked Snape to come back to his office. He should be reporting both boys to Slughorn, their Head of House. Never before had Harry wished so fervently to be able to delegate a task. But if he went into Slughorn’s party, either to have a quiet word with him or pull him away, all the guests would notice and would eventually put the clues together. They would know that it somehow involved Snape and Lestrange, since they had gone missing together and neither would return. Harry knew better than almost anyone how the Hogwarts rumour mill worked. While he had never liked Snape, to put it mildly, this Snape had been humiliated enough for one night.

With a wandless spell, Harry opened the wards of his office. Snape followed him through the door, shuffling his feet across the stone. Harry gestured towards one of the comfortable blue chairs across from his desk and told Snape to sit. He did. He had not said a single word since Harry had found them, not that Harry could blame him. Harry didn’t know what to say either. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at his reflection in the darkened window as he considered what to do.

So far, Harry had done a good job of keeping his students and their future identities separate in his mind. He had had to since he was teaching his parents! But as he turned and looked at Snape sitting hunched over in the chair, he had an especially difficult time reconciling him with the fearsome Potions Master that he had once known. _That_ Snape had made his school years hell. This Snape, well, Harry could still picture him on his knees, his face covered— but no, he banished the image from his mind. His neck grew hot and he tugged at his collar to loosen it.

Harry wished for some of that scotch McGonagall had gifted him. (She had certainly chosen the right welcoming present.) He took a seat behind his desk and considered how he wanted to go about this. Snape’s head was bowed and he refused to make eye contact. Harry summoned his courage. “Mr Snape. I—well, I heard a little bit of what Lestrange said to you and we have to have a short conversation about it. I want you to know that I don’t find you at fault. And, if you ever need to talk to someone, I am here. You should know that you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

At this, Snape shifted in his seat, even more distressed. He started picking at the fraying thread on the arm of the chair, unraveling a piece of the fabric. He mumbled something Harry didn’t catch.

“Sorry?” Harry asked.

“It was…consensual,” Snape murmured without moving.

Oh, Merlin. He did not want to be having this discussion with Snape, of all people. “Well, you might have been, er, willing, but you did not deserve to have those things said to you,” Harry said firmly.

Snape’s face flushed a bright scarlet. “That part…was consensual as well.”

“Oh.”

“We have an understanding.”

“Oh,” Harry said again. His cheeks heated.

“Yes.” Snape finally looked up and held Harry’s gaze. “Please, you can’t tell anyone. Lestrange heard you assign me detention. I’ll serve it without complaint but please, please do not tell anyone why.”

Harry took a deep breath and collected himself. He stared into those dark eyes and tried not to remember what his face had looked like when it was flushed with desire, what his lips had looked like around—no. “I am not going to tell anyone. I promise. I will expect you for detention Monday at 7 pm.” He sighed. “You are free to go, Mr Snape.”

Snape nodded then got up and left without another word.

After a moment, Harry said, “Oh, fuck this,” and headed back to his room for some scotch.

* * *

An hour or so later, Harry found himself drinking while grading. Perhaps not the best idea, but he needed something to keep his mind occupied and he _definitely_ did not have the willpower to read another line of this tripe sober. He knew some of the stuff that he and Ron had written for Divination had been awful, but sweet Circe somehow these essays were even dumber than that. By the third year, he would have at least expected more than a fraction of the Hufflepuffs to have a basic grasp on the English language.

He angrily scratched out a whole paragraph and scribbled, “See me after class!” in the margin before setting it aside. The next essay contained obvious plagiarism—from the class textbook. He crossed out the whole thing and wrote a large red T on the top somewhat spitefully. He took another sip of scotch and moved onto the next essay.

He read the first line out loud. “‘The dictionary describes “Dark” as—’” Harry threw his empty glass at the wall. It shattered satisfyingly. He took a deep breath before he repaired it and summoned it back to his desk. He filled it up again and took another drink.

“Damnit.” He rubbed his forehead, a habit he had never quite been able to break even after he had got rid of the Horcrux. “I have stuff to do here. I’m wasting so much time,” he murmured to the empty room. In the next essay, he reached the end only to read back over the paper to find that he had drawn a line through everything except for a single sentence.

He was done for the night. _These look like Snape graded them,_ he thought as he stacked them in a pile next to his desk. But his heart started beating like a frantic bird whenever his mind brought up memories of Snape and here wasn’t enough alcohol in all of Hogwarts to allow for that train of thought.

Leaving the essays in a pile, he stretched his arms toward the ceiling before settling onto the couch in front of the fire. It was times like these that Harry missed the T.V. that Hermione had charmed to work on magic rather than electricity. They had spent many sleepless nights huddled around it watching Muggle reruns together. But of course, something like that would not work at Hogwarts, and he did not even know what sorts of shows were on in 1977, anyway. Probably garbage. The Brady Bunch, maybe? Eugh, no thanks.

While Harry liked teaching and he was sure he doing a good job, or at least a better job than most of his Defence teachers had done, the fact was that he had more important things to do with his time. He was getting frustrated. He had to find all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes and that was much more important than spending his evenings grading papers. He and Hermione had theorized that Voldemort had left a Horcrux at Hogwarts and that was why he was here: to search for it. But he didn’t know for sure a Horcrux was here, and it was mostly based on a gut feeling of Harry’s as well as Dumbledore’s speculation. He had told Harry before he died that Voldemort left the objects in places of importance to him. Hogwarts was his home as much as it was Harry’s. Voldemort had even tried to apply for a teaching position at Hogwarts. Harry was sure there just had to be a Horcrux here.

Since his return to 1977, he had spent as much time as possible combing over the school and investigating anything that might be Dark Magic. But because his Horcrux was gone—destroyed when Voldemort killed him in the Forbidden Forest—he was not sure he would be able to sense any of the others. If they were even here. But it did not stop him from searching. He had made a quick enemy of Madam Pince when he had turned his attention to the library, though he had found nothing.

His other lead was perhaps even more of a mystery. Harry and Hermione had researched what had become of Tom Riddle after he had graduated from Hogwarts. They had been surprised to find that he had worked at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley for several years. Many valuable items had passed through Voldemort’s hands there, any one of which he could have turned into a Horcrux. But short of breaking in and stealing the records, Harry had no way to find out what they were.

As he watched the fire crackling merrily in the hearth, he wondered if he would ever be free from Voldemort.

* * *

He woke with a start a few hours later. A horrible cramp seized him in the shoulder when he tried to uncrumple himself and he dropped the glass tumbler and it shattered on the ground. Harry cursed and repaired it for the second time. Hermione would be furious with him if she were there. She was always lecturing him about one of the magical laws that said something about a limited amount of times objects could be repaired magically, though Harry could never remember the details, exactly.

But Hermione was another thing he could not allow his mind to dwell on and so he pushed her memory away. After lighting the fire again, he yawned and rubbed his neck. The combination of sleeping on the couch and the scotch had left him bleary-eyed and lightheaded and he was tempted to go back to sleep, in his actual bed this time. Outside the window, the rosy fingers of dawn spread over the lake. Morning had broken. And so, even though Harry really, really wanted to go back to bed, experience told him that at this point a nice jog around the lake before classes would energize him more than an hour or two of sleep.

He pulled off his wrinkled robe from the day before and tossed it in the hamper. The siren song of his plush bed called to him, but he resisted and pulled on his workout clothes. He tied his shoes and promised himself copious amounts of coffee after his run and headed down to the lake. Running cleared his mind in a way that Occlumency practice with Snape— _nope, still can’t think about him_ —never did. He managed three laps around the lake before the burning in his legs told him to stop.

Harry popped by the kitchens on the way back to his room and asked the house elves politely for a cup of coffee. He would get more at breakfast, but this extra cup would hopefully alleviate some of McGonagall’s knowing glances. Blast her for being right about his need for alcohol. He was holding his coffee in one hand and wiping sweat from his eyes with the corner of his shirt with the other when he ran into a group of eagle-eyed fourth year Ravenclaw girls on their way to the library before breakfast. They caught sight of his bare stomach and devolved into a fit of giggles before hurrying off.

He scowled at their retreating backs until they disappeared and then he turned and walked away in the opposite direction. He hadn’t gone far when he heard more footfalls in the corridor nearby. Not wanting to run into any more students, he ducked behind a tapestry that concealed a secret passageway and it led him up to the seventh floor.

He wandered around the empty corridor a few times, his mind back on Horcruxes. _I just wish I could find someplace secret where Voldemort might have stashed something important,_ he thought. He glanced at the tapestry on the wall featuring some trolls trying to learn ballet. Hogwarts was so ridiculous. He watched the tapestry for a few moments and then continued pacing. There must be somewhere in Hogwarts that Riddle had to hidden a Horcrux. _I just wish I could ask the castle_ _for help_ , he thought.

Harry stopped at the end of the corridor and listened as indistinctvoices grew louder. He quickly turned back around and headed in the opposite direction. _I just really wish I could find someplace where people would store hidden things at Hogwarts,_ he thought again, his frustration levels rising.

A door appeared on the wall opposite the tapestry of the trolls. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the doorway. Then several approaching footsteps and some high pitched giggling signaled the arrival of more students, making up his mind for him. He quickly headed toward the strange door. It was Hogwarts. How dangerous could it be?

He was trying to determine whether it was bravery that made him enter the strange magical room or cowardice that drove him away from the stampeding students when the door shut behind him. He stood facing the biggest pile of junk that he had ever seen in one place. Piles. Stacks of books, broken furniture, trophies, broken bottles, empty cages, cages full of skeletons of poor forgotten creatures, and one large cauldrons of goop that was probably older than Dumbledore.

He had found someplace where Riddle might have stashed something he wanted to be hidden. It was a grim discovery because though Harry had found a secret, hidden room full of deliberately forgotten objects, but there were so many of them Harry might be 200 years old before he sorted through them all.

“ _Accio_ _Horcrux_?” Harry asked hopefully. Nothing happened. He sighed. He had a class in an hour and he still had to head back to his rooms to shower and change.

He wasn’t sure he would even be able to get in this room again, but he could not stay here indefinitely. He would come back in a few days, on the weekend, when he would have more time to explore the room properly. Just before he left, his eyes caught the spine of a blood-red book. Harry read the golden writing of the title aloud in the empty room: “Curses of the Darkest Magics by Cygnus Black, Sr.. Awesome, this book has been banned for a hundred years. Hermione would jump up and down.” Harry had to swallow hard at the memory of Hermione. He grabbed the book and headed back to his quarters.

Even after his run and surprise diversion, Harry was still slightly hungover and exhausted from sleeping on a couch like a pretzel. He showered quickly and grabbed some more coffee from the great hall—damn McGonagall and her smug expression—and sipped it as he walked up to his classroom.He was barely being held together with coffee so of course today he had his seventh-year N.E.W.T. class first thing in the morning. He would have to come face to face with the subjects in the memory he had been purposely ignoring all morning. He had put on his blackest, most billowing robes, and practiced stomping around his quarters in front of a mirror for a bit before he headed to his classroom. Harry loved his newest scar. It was perfect. It made him appear intimidating, more so than Professor Snape, even if he couldn’t quite get the robes to flare out dramatically. He lurked around the corner out of sight from his classroom door until about one minute after class was supposed to begin. He banged the door open with wandless magic and stalked into the classroom scowling. He dropped a roll of parchment and a bag containing a few extra heavy books on the table and turned toward the class. He had to fight down a laugh at their expressions. Even the Gryffindors were intimidated. The fact that he had encouraged the rumours about how he was a Dark wizard probably helped.

“Good morning, seventh-years,” he started in a slow, even voice as he glanced around the room. He made eye contact with Lestrange. “We are going to begin today with a quiz. Hopefully, everyone enjoyed reading chapter three.” He waved his wand and magically distributed the copies. They landed softly on the desks in front of each student. “When you have finished, please see yourself into the corridor and wait patiently for the second part of the lesson. We will be taking a little field trip down to the lake. I have something special set up outside.”

The Ravenclaws shared nervous glances at the prospect of an unannounced quiz and the whole front row scrambled for quills as soon as he finished talking. The students read over their papers and many of them frowned at the questions. He had made it intentionally difficult. Lily Evans bit the end of her quill as she worked her way through the questions. James Potter kept messing up his hair in a way that was probably a nervous habit, though the constant primping annoyed Harry. Sirius Black answered all of the questions quickly and then flipped the paper over and started doodling a dragon on the back of the parchment. Snape was one of the first to finish but did not stand up to hand the parchment back, though neither did he doodle on the back of it like Sirius.

After a few of the Ravenclaws, Lupin, and the Head Boy and Girl had handed theirs in, Snape followed some of his Slytherin compatriots up to the front and slipped his test onto the pile. Most of the students had headed into the corridor and there they waited for the rest of the class. When Lestrange stood up and handed his in last, Harry was sure that he had waited on purpose. Harry said in a light tone, “No trouble was it, Mr Lestrange? I trust you have not been distracted with any extracurriculars recently.”

“No, sir,” Lestrange said. He had no trouble meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Good, good,” he replied. “We all have certain habits that can distract us from what is important. It’s best, in your N.E.W.T. year especially, to cease those activities entirely.” He drummed his fingers on his desk.

Lestrange did not back down easily. “My ‘extracurriculars,’ as you say, are my own. I have seen no evidence that they have anything to do with my school work.”

“Of course, except when it becomes a question of character,” Harry countered back. “I heard you were planning on going into the Ministry next year. I thought I heard Slughorn say something about being a clerk for the Wizengamot? I believe to be considered consideration for that position you need several letters of recommendation from your professors, especially in N.E.W.T. subjects.”

“Indeed,” he ground out. “I would not want to jeopardize my future plans,” Lestrange acknowledged with a nod. His eyes were angry but the rest of his face was otherwise schooled and calm.

“Then I am sure you have a bright future ahead of you, Mr Lestrange.” Harry allowed himself a cold smile, conscious of the way that it stretched his scar and distorted his face. “You have detention tonight with McGonagall,” he said. “Be at her office at 8 o’clock.”

“Yes, Professor Greene. If that is all?” Lestrange said.

“Indeed. Wait in the corridor.” Lestrange left and Harry waited a moment before calling out, “Snape.”

Reluctantly, Snape appeared in the doorway. He pulled at a button on his cloak and did not make eye contact with Harry for a long moment. Then, he looked up and blurted out, “You should not have done that.” He got the words out as quickly, as if he would change his mind mid-sentence. “You just put a target on your back.”

“Have I?” Harry asked. He waved his hand and made a show of magicking the papers into his bag wandlessly and then added Snape’s Muffliato charm around them with a smile. He did not want Lestrange or any of the other students to listen in on their conversation. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort became curious about him. But he felt secure at Hogwarts and did not fear any of these 17-year-old junior Death Eaters, no matter who they would become.

The display of magic was not lost on Snape. “You’re powerful,” he acknowledged with a nod. “But Lestrange. Well. He is not used to not getting what he wants.”

“He’s a bully.” Harry shrugged. “Trust me, I’ve dealt with bullies before.”

“But…” Snape said. He looked as if he was trying to say something else but shut his mouth and stared at his shoes instead.

“Detention tonight, Mr Snape. My office. Don’t forget. And bring something to work on while you’re here.”

“Sir?” Snape asked.

“Just bring some homework or something, I don’t care. I’m not going to have you squeeze bubotuber pus without gloves or anything like that. The detention is for appearance’s sake since I still believe you were coerced.” A faint blush appeared on Snape’s high cheekbones at that but he nodded to his shoes.“Now, for the rest of the lesson! Follow me.”

Harry led his seventh-year class outside to the bank of the lake. The Ravenclaws followed him closely, pestering him with questions as they walked. He answered in a sharp tone and told them that he would not be grading their test until later and that he was done answering questions about it.

He waited until they were all standing in a clump behind him before he turned around and addressed them. “I am beginning a practical portion of the class next week. We will meet here next week without bothering to go to the classroom for the lesson. Please bring a warm outer robe and some clothes that you won’t mind getting wet.”

Sirius Black, at the very back of the group, had wandered off almost as soon as they had arrived and was examining a shell that he had found on the bank of the lake. He had his wand out and muttered some spell under his breath. The shell shot up into the air above their heads and, after reaching an altitude about ten feet above them, exploded into red and gold sparks. James and Lupin applauded with polite golf claps while Lily rolled her eyes. Harry cleared his throat. “Mr Black, thank you so much for volunteering! If you would, please join me at the front of the class.”

“Absolutely, professor,” Black said in a cheerful voice.

Harry raised his wand and froze part of the lake, covering it with clear glass-like ice. He beckoned Sirius and the rest of the class to follow him out onto the ice. Once they had gotten about fifty feet out, he stopped. “As N.E.W.T. students, you should be well versed in aquatic Dark creatures. Would anyone like to speculate as to the types that might live in the lake? Yes, Miss Evans, go ahead.”

“Grindylows, sir. They are aggressive creatures whose primary diet consists of small sea creatures, algae, and fish. They have been known to strangle humans and eat them as well.”

“Excellent. And the best method of Defence against them? Mr Newman?” Harry asked the Ravenclaw.

“They have strong but brittle fingers. Break their grip,” he said.

“And their appearance? Yes, Mr Lupin?” Harry asked. As the Gryffindor made eye contact with Harry, he fell back in time to when he was a student, visiting his Professor Lupin in his office, while the Grindylow in the tank made faces at him.

“Green with small horns. But their long fingers are their most defining characteristic,” Lupin replied.

“Well done, everyone. Two points each for correct answers to Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plant that resembled a bundle of slimy, green rat tails. He did not try to stop the evil grin that broke out on his face. “Now, Mr Black, can you tell me what this is?” He held out the plant. Sirius shrugged.

“Is that Gillyweed, sir?”

“Two more points to Ravenclaw, Mr Casey.” Harry raised his eyebrows at Black. “Well, Mr Black? After you,” he said. He handed a small piece to his future godfather. “Fair warning, it tastes awful. Oh, and you might want to take your robes off first. They get heavy when wet.” He pulled off his outer robes and his button-down shirt but left on his pants and undershirt. He was more dressed than he normally would be while swimming, but still light enough that he would be able to move around underwater.

Sirius had pulled off his shirt so that he was completely bare-chested and gave the class a wink as moved to undo his belt. A few of the girls tittered. “That’s enough, Mr Black. Show some sense of decorum: what would your mother say?” Harry scolded with a smirk remembering Walburga’s cantankerous portrait. Before he jumped in the water he told the class, “The rest of you will observe for today, but don’t worry: next week we will all get a turn. The lake is positively infested with Grindylows!”

* * *


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to zalil for your help with this chapter!

Severus scowled as the professor and Black emerged from the lake, laughing together. The lesson had proven informative, though he wished that he had been the one chosen for the demonstration instead of that foul Gryffindor. It was all well and good to read about Dark creatures but it was ever so much more fascinating to face them in their natural environment. The remaining students had been able to observe the Grindylows that lurked in the kelp beds from the safety on the crystal clear ice sheet. The Ravenclaws all had pieces of parchment out and were taking notes awkwardly, using each other’s backs as tables, but the rest of the class hadn’t bothered, intent on observing.

But beyond just studying the creatures in their natural environment, they had been able to watch as the professor and Black had progressed past the Dark creatures. Greene had hung back and let Black take the lead at first. The Gryffindor had quickly drawn the attention of one of them but had managed to break its grip when it wrapped around his ankle. But when two of the creatures turned their attention to him at the same time, Black had found himself overwhelmed and struggling, and Greene had interfered with a spell. It had appeared as though he had shot a jet of water out of his wand toward the Grindylow, but Severus wasn’t sure he recognized what spell he used. He would have to ask Greene later.

“Nice show, eh?” Avery said in a low voice. He indicated Professor Greene, who was tugging his shirt down over his well-sculpted abdomen. He had a lithe form that Severus had indeed already admired, but he wasn’t going to let on to Avery that he had noticed. Severus glared at Avery and made a point to ignore Greene as they walked off the ice to the bank of the lake. Avery was straight but had known of Severus's proclivity toward men for years and he often teased him, though at least he was friendlier about it than the rest of Slytherin House.

Greene cast warming charms both himself and Black and then drying charms on their clothes before they tugged their robes over their heads. When he and Black were dressed, he addressed them once more. “Next week everyone will get a turn. Be prepared! Oh, and 10 points to Gryffindor, Mr Black, for your assistance. Well done.” He nodded at the class and walked briskly toward the castle. Severus followed him with his eyes, noticing how Greene’s hair had begun to curl up at the ends as it dried.

* * *

That night, Severus arrived at Professor Greene’s office promptly at 7 pm. He had brought a few books to read, both textbooks and a few library books for a bit of light reading.Greene had a strange idea of detention, but Severus was determined not to let any residual embarrassment show. He was a Slytherin, after all, and he had his house’s reputation to uphold.

“Mr Snape, come in!” Greene said. He stepped into the office, which had two desks. Off along one wall, bare except for a single quill, a student desk sat as if forgotten. In the centre of the office, covered with many stacks of papers, empty ink jars, and a few broken quills, stood a claw-footed mahogany desk, behind which Greene sat. He dipped his quill into a jar of red ink as he scratched a few lines on the parchment in front of him. “Please, sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you. No milk or sugar.” He sat down at the smaller desk in the corner and pulled out a Defence Against the Dark Arts book he had checked out from the library a few days ago but not yet had the chance to start.

“I can’t tell if that’s some sort of subtle ploy to get me to like you,” Greene said. He indicated the Defence book Severus was holding with a nod. “That would be a very Slytherin thing to do, don’t deny it.” His accusation was softened by a half-smile.

“Well, if you have already made up your mind about my motives, then you won’t believe me when I say I was simply interested in the subject matter,” Severus replied and Greene chuckled.

“Guess not.” He shrugged and poured out two cups of tea, handing one to Severus before he settled back down at his desk. “Feel free to read whatever, I’m not going to deduct points if you read something besides Defence. I have these essays to grade,” he said. He eyed them with distaste. “Your detention goes only until eight and then you’re free to go for tonight. I will expect to see you for the rest of the week at the same time.”

“Of course,” Severus replied.

He opened his book and started reading, the office fading around him as he concentrated on the words. He had just got to the chapter he was most interested in, which discussed the history of the Patronus Charm, when Greene started cursing under his breath. He scratched angrily at an essay with his quill. Severus chose to tactfully ignore him and continued with his book. A few moments later, he was interrupted again. This time, Greene’s cursing was more audible.

“Damn it, now _that_ is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read,” he muttered.

Again, Severus ignored him, but again, a few minutes later, Greene’s quill’s furious scratching broke his concentration. Greene sighed. “What in Merlin’s name is that about? It just doesn’t make any sense! Can he even read?”

“Indeed?” Severus said with a drawl. He lifted one eyebrow at Greene who looked away, embarrassed.

“Sorry, Snape, just frustrated a bit by these essays.”

“Only a bit?” He did not try to control his smirk. “You’re scratching at them like they insulted your mother.”

Greene stared at him with a blank expression. “You don’t even know how awful grading this rubbish is.” He threw his quill down on the desk with a huff and ran his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, I give up. Do you play chess?”

Severus blinked at the segue. “Passably well, or so I’m told.”

“I’m rubbish. Not even my chessmen will listen to me at this point since they all know I’m never right about anything. Had a friend who won every time we played and I still liked it, though. Fancy a game?”

“Sure,” Severus said with a casual shrug.

Greene pulled a chessboard out of his drawer and set it up on his desk. Severus abandoned the small student desk and moved over to one of the navy wingback chairs and took his seat opposite from his professor. “Black or white? Your choice,” Greene asked.

“White,” Severus said.

* * *

The rest of the week passed quickly until Saturday, the weekend before Halloween, which happened to be their first Hogsmeade trip. He had served his detentions faithfully from 7 pm to 8 pm each night and they had followed much the same format as the first. He had read for a while as Professor Greene attempted to grade, and honestly, why was he even a teacher if he hated grading so much? And then after Greene had given up on his grading for the night, they played chess.

Severus won each time, but Greene was never disappointed. He’d just break out into a grin at Severus’s “Checkmate” and demand a rematch. He had demanded a rematch after their last game on Friday and Severus had not wanted to refuse, even though his detentions were technically over. They had set a tentative meet up for a game sometime before Christmas, since Severus was so busy with his N.E.W.T. coursework and Greene let slip that he was working on a special project. Greene wanting to spend time with him had caused a warm bubble in his stomach.

Lestrange had not said a word to him since the night of Slughorn’s party and so Severus cautiously did not make any plans with the other Slytherins for their Hogsmeade visit until he learned what Lestrange planned on doing. If Lestrange was ignoring him, then he would ignore him right back. He didn’t regret the loss. He wasn’t too pleased with Lestrange, anyway, and was glad to avoid him. When Lestrange announced on Saturday morning that he would be spending the weekend in the N.E.W.T. potions lab working on a special project with Slughorn, he figured it would be safe to go to Hogsmeade.

Unfortunately, by that point, Avery had already made his own plans with an impressionable fifth-year Hufflepuff with wide blue eyes and long chestnut hair. He told Severus about her on Saturday morning at breakfast. “I saw her coming back from the library the other day, with her cloak open and a tight-fitting shirt and I was like, ‘ _yes_ ’ and asked her out on the spot. She seemed too flustered to say no.” Avery grinned. “I don’t even care if we have to go to Madam Pudifoot’s.” Severus had sighed as he cut up his sausage and pointedly refused to engage in further conversation.

That left him without any company for the trip. While the other Slytherins tolerated him, they were hardly anything more than reluctant allies. He had cut ties almost completely with Mulciber after the incident with Mary Macdonald—not that Lily had listened to him when he had told her that—and did not get along with anyone else as well as he got along with Avery. Though, to be fair, that was more Avery’s fault than anything. He was pretty much friends with everyone in Slytherin.

Severus had almost skipped Hogsmeade altogether in favour of staying behind in the library, but at the last minute, he found himself heading toward the front of the castle and down the path toward the village. He pulled his Slytherin scarf up over his chin—it was blustery and unusually cold for October, a preview of the winter ahead—and figured he might as well browse a bit in the bookstore. He did not have any money to spend on books but he was always interested in seeing the new titles.

“Snape!” Professor Greene called from behind him and Severus paused, waiting for him politely. He caught up to him quickly. “Hey, walk with me?” Severus shrugged and they walked in companionable silence for a few moments. Severus suspected that Greene was the type who had to fill the silence with chatter and he was proved right when Greene asked, “So, any plans for Halloween?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I believe a crazed teacher of mine wants me to fight Grindylows in a freezing lake under a sheet of ice.” He worried he had gone too far if he had gone too far but Greene laughed.

“Okay, but in my defence, the ice is _magic_ ice. And the lake isn’t even that cold yet. You should feel what it’s like in February.” He mock-shivered.

“February?” Severus asked. An uneasy expression crossed the professor’s face.

“I mean, I’d imagine,” Greene said. “Not the place you want to swim in winter. But don’t worry, the Grindylows aren’t that dangerous, all things considered. You’ll be fine.”

“Unless it strangles and eats me,” Severus said in a dry tone.

Greene laughed again. “Trust me.” He clapped Severus on the shoulder in that annoying way that he was becoming a habit and headed off in the direction of the Three Broomsticks. “See you, Snape!”

“I do trust you,” Severus said quietly to himself.

He headed toward the bookstore to browse. It would have been easy for Greene to use what he had seen that night of the party against him. If it had been one of the Slytherins, Severus would have expected blackmail. But Greene had just gone on with things without commenting further.

After about half an hour browsing through the books, the salesgirl had started to become frustrated with him. It was time to leave. “Nothing caught my interest. Perhaps next time,” he said to her. He fixed her with a stare, daring her to make another one of her pointed comments about the price of the books, but she turned away and busied herself with organizing a shelf.

He planned to head back up to Hogwarts because he did not want to visit anything else in town, but almost as soon as he was outside Avery grabbed his arm and dragged him bodily down the street. “What do you think you are doing?” Severus demanded.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet, come on,” Avery said. He let go of Severus and gestured for him to follow him.

“I don’t want to meet your Hufflepuff,” Severus snapped at him.

“Not her. Just come on,” Avery said. He led them to the least desirable pub in Hogsmeade: the Hog’s Head.

“Avery,” Severus started in a stern tone. “While I’m very fond of poisons, I don’t like to make a habit of ingesting them myself. The Hog’s Head? Really? Are you trying to subject yourself to foodbourne illnesses on purpose?”

“There’s someone I want you to meet. Come on.”

Severus reluctantly followed Avery into the pub with a scowl on his face. It was just as dirty as he remembered from his first (and only) visit. The floor may or may not just be dirt, since it was difficult to tell if there was hardwood underneath the decades of mud that had been tracked through. The windows might as well have been walls for all that you could see out of them. He scowled deeper as he followed Avery to a table in the corner but stopped short at the sight of the blonde man sitting there.

“Ah, Snape. Good to see you again,” Lucius Malfoy said. Severus's breath caught in his throat. The Slytherin graduate looked exceedingly well. His long blond hair was as immaculate as always and his black robes had been tailored perfectly, accentuating his trim figure. Severus gave Malfoy a half bow in greeting. Malfoy smiled at them and said, “Please, take a seat.”

Severus and Avery sat down and Avery whispered, gloatingly, to him, “Told you it’d be worth coming here.”

“Indeed,” Severus replied. Malfoy had been the first one to welcome him to Slytherin. Had it not been for his gesture of friendship, Severus did not know what his standing would be amongst the Slytherins at Hogwarts. It had struck him as remarkable that the well-esteemed Prefect from an old pureblood lineage would be so kind to a half-blood, and Severus had never forgotten it.

Malfoy raised his walking stick to indicate that their table was ready to order, the silver snake visible above their heads even in the dim light. When the waiter appeared, Malfoy ordered them a round of Firewhiskys. “It’s got to be Firewhisky. I don’t trust many drinks here and you should know me better than to drink Butterbeer in front of me,” Malfoy said. “We are not twelve-year-old Hufflepuffs.”

“Speaking of Hufflepuffs,” Avery started, clearly intending to bore him with a story of the girl he was trying to date, but Malfoy cut him off.

“I believe we have more interesting matters to discuss today, Avery.”

“Of course,” Avery conceded.

“Now, Severus,” Malfoy said. Severus raised his eyebrows at the casual use of his first name. “I know that some of your compatriots currently at Hogwarts have been making plans for next year. Rodolphus plans to go into the ministry.” He took a sip of his firewhisky. “I was wondering if you had any similar plans.”

Severus stared down at the table. The dark wood was scratched in several places and Severus was sure that five particularly deep parallel scratches were the result of some clawed creature. “I have not yet decided.”

“Hmm? No? I remember you always had a deep interest in _Defence Against_ the Dark Arts,” Malfoy said. They were all aware of the fact that the Dark Arts themselves were Severus’s true passion.

“Yes, I still have an interest.”

“You should see the professor we have this year, Malfoy,” Avery interjected. “He’s something else. The best we’ve had. And he has this wicked cool cursed scar that cuts his whole face in half. Not even the Gryffindors had been stupid enough to ask him about it.”

“Ah, yes. Professor Harry Greene. Reports have made their way back to me and other…interested parties.” Lucius took another sip of Firewhisky and Severus copied him, finally daring to take a small sip out of his glass. He managed not to choke on the harsh liquid. “But we are here to discuss Severus's plans for the future. I don’t know if you have followed my career since Hogwarts, but I have been quite busy. I’ve been working closely with the Ministry on several matters.” He paused and picked some dust off of his sleeve. “I’ve also been in contact with several valuable allies outside the ministry, and there is one in particular that you might wish to make the acquaintance of—soon. Lestrange’s father knows him quite well. I believe Avery’s father has also decided an alliance to be beneficial.”

“Yes,” Avery said. “Father has committed to join the, er, cause.”

Of course, Severus knew they were talking about the Dark Lord, though no one dared to speak plainly in a crowded tavern. “I am sure it would be a great privilege to meet those of influence,” Severus said.

“Good,” Malfoy said. “In that case, I would like to extend an invitation to you. Malfoy Manor will be hosting a ball this year for the Winter Solstice. You are invited to attend, if you can secure some time off from your studies. I remember how it was my N.E.W.T. year. But you would be most welcome. A formal invitation will follow.”

“I am honored by your invitation,” Severus said. In all honesty, he did not want to go, but he did not dare spurn such a gesture of inclusion. The Solstice was on a Wednesday this year, he remembered, and he would have to arrange transportation somehow from Hogwarts to Malfoy Manor, though perhaps if there were enough Slytherins attending they would be able to get special permission from the headmaster to use the Floo.

“If you would like, please bring a companion. A date, if you will.” It was obvious by the clipped way Malfoy said ‘companion’ that Malfoy was aware of the rumours about him.

Severus held his grey gaze for a moment but detected nothing malicious in the statement. “Thank you. I look forward to it very much.”

Malfoy nodded at each of them and then stood to leave. “Now boys, enjoy your Firewhisky. I must leave you here as I have other pressing matters to attend to today.” He turned toward the door but paused after a few steps. He turned back around and asked, in a deliberately off-handed manner, “Perhaps I will extend a similar invitation to this new professor of yours? I have heard some interesting things about him and none of my, well, friends seem to know anything about him. Or his values.” He arched one silvery blond eyebrow. “I think he is due to be welcomed by society.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Avery said confidently. Severus remained silent but inclined his head in a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Good,” Malfoy said. This time he walked out of the Hog’s Head without a backward glance.

Severus and Avery sipped their drinks companionably for a moment and then Avery launched into a long story about his latest attempt at a Hufflepuff conquest. Severus rolled his eyes but was glad for the company.

* * *

He woke up early the next morning and after a quick breakfast headed to the library to spend his Sunday morning studying. He was determined to earn as many N.E.W.T.s as possible and had been stubborn about studying even when the rest of the Slytherins took the weekends off. He headed down a narrow aisle between two shelves stuffed with books. He found his favorite table, put his bag down, before heading to one of the shelves that discussed advanced Charms. He wanted to begin working on the Charms essay that Flitwick had assigned even though he still had two weeks until it was due.

A few minutes passed and he was deep in concentration when a voice interrupted him. “Snape.”

“Yes, Lestrange?” He was proud of himself for keeping the bitterness out of his voice. “Was there something you wanted?”

“May I?” Lestrange asked, indicating an empty chair.

“Of course,” Severus said and Lestrange sat. He did not have his bag or any books with him, so he assumed that he had made the trip to the library to have a private word with him. There were too many eager ears in the common room.

“I just wanted to say,” Lestrange began and then stopped and took a deep breath as if he couldn’t bring himself to continue. He rubbed his finger against a deep gouge in the old wooden table. Lestrange, though normally reserved, was always confident when he did choose to speak. Severus had never seen him so uncomfortable. “I just wanted to apologize for the, ah, sequence of events on the night of Slughorn’s party.”

Severus wanted to roll his eyes. “Thank you,” Severus said, instead. He leaned forward and began working on his essay again. After a moment, Lestrange cleared his throat. “Is there something else?” Snape snapped. The irritation bled into his tone but he did not to care.

“I heard that you spoke with Malfoy.”

Ah, there it was. “Yes, I had quite a pleasant chat with him yesterday at the Hog’s Head. I am assuming that you will be in attendance at this Solstice Ball of his? As well as other people of influence?” Severus met Lestrange’s eyes.

“Yes.”

“Very well, I will see you then.” Severus picked up his quill and scratched out the next line of his essay but Lestrange was not finished.

“Avery told me that Malfoy mentioned extending the invitation to Professor Greene.”

“Did he?”

“I think you should be the one to ask him, not Avery.”

Severus did not look up at him, but his quill paused mid-sentence. “And why is that?”

“I believe he would consider the invitation if you were to ask him. Sometimes I catch him watching you. Even before… Well. Since the beginning of the term. He might be more amenable if you were to ask him,” Lestrange said.

“I will take that into consideration,” he said. He hid behind a curtain of dark hair as his cheeks flushed.

“Very good.” Lestrange stood and left without another word.

After he had left, Severus set his quill down on the table and leaned back in his chair, unable to concentrate on his essay. So Lestrange had chosen to break the silence between them. The nerve of him. As if he could just offer a half-hearted apology and then immediately follow it up with a request for a favour. He doubted that Lestrange was truly sorry for anything at all. Lestrange was not someone who felt emotions like remorse. No, he had just apologized because it was more important to him, or to someone else whose identity Severus was easily able to guess, that the mysterious Professor Greene attend the ball.

Severus had known Greene should not have been so casual with his wandless magic and he had warned him that calling out Lestrange would get him into trouble. He could guess who had brought Greene to the Dark Lord’s attention.

* * *


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: thanks to the lovely zalil for beta-ing <3 (Any mistakes that remain are my own.)

Harry stood on the bank of the Black Lake waiting for his seventh year N.E.W.T. class to arrive. They were each going to take their turns facing the Grindylows in a real-life environment. He had followed part of his Lupin’s curriculum and introduced several dark creatures to his third years, and briefly covered them for a couple of older classes whose background Harry found lacking. This curse of Voldemort’s robbed the students of a consistent education. But the theory of something was a lot different than actually facing it head-on yourself, and that practical application was something his N.E.W.T.s students needed.

They were making their way down to the lake across the lawn. The heavier rain of the early morning had given way to a grey sort of drizzle. His parents walked hand in hand with Sirius and Remus following close behind, laughing together. Harry’s stomach felt as though he had swallowed a large cold stone. He knew what the future would hold for them. Sirius, imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years, then a year eating rats in a cave and a year living in a house he hated, dying prematurely before he turned forty. Remus, shuffled from job to job, barely able to make ends meet. Then, finally, a chance at a family and happiness that went unfulfilled. And of course, his parents: dead before they had begun to live. _Fucking Halloween,_ Harry thought to himself. It just was not fair for any of them.

And Harry was trying to stop it, or at least to change what he could. There was no point in preserving the timeline if everyone he loved was dead. His only fear was changing so much, too much, and changing the timeline so that Voldemort made even more Horcruxes, or made ones that he would be unable to find. He was missing at least two already, by Hermione’s calculations, and he had been spending every spare minute searching for them without luck. He had been forced into chaperoning the Hogsmeade trip on Saturday and lost a whole day of searching in the mysterious room of lost things. On Sunday, he had risen early, snagged some breakfast from the kitchens, and headed there right away. He had spent all morning going through the piles, trying to examine each artifact individually to try to discover whether it was a potential Horcrux or not, all the while he knew that if he took such care with every object it would take years before he found it.

What sort of calamity would befall him this year on Halloween? A troll he could handle, no problem, but he did not want to face a basilisk again. And oh, how _that_ made him shudder. That monster was still slumbering peacefully in Slytherin’s secret chamber. He was going to have to surpress the memory of his second year if he wanted to sleep in the castle ever again. Sirius was not going to be much of a problem—probably—and it wasn’t like the Goblet of Fire would announce his name this year. And of course, James and Lily were still alive, at least for now.

* * *

“Sir, have you ever made an Unbreakable Vow?” Avery asked. The class was standing at the edge of the magical ice that Harry had made, casting warming charms and pulling on their school robes. “I was doing some extracurricular reading about them. It’s the sort of thing you grow up hearing about, but I don’t know anyone who has made one personally.”

Harry appraised Avery sharply. He found that hard to believe. Unbreakable Vows were probably something purebloods grew up learning about, but perhaps he had been sheltered. Harry shook his head. “I’ve never made one myself, no. But I have known others who have made Vows.” His green eyes flickered toward Snape. “And have gone on to regret them.”

“Did they break the vow?” One of the Ravenclaws asked in a hushed voice.

“No, he fulfilled the terms. He just very much regretted it.”

“I’d love to hear more about what you know,” Avery said. “May I walk with you back to your classroom?”

“Of course, Mr Avery.” Harry turned and addressed the rest of the class. “I want that essay on my desk first thing next Monday. Please see me during office hours if you are struggling.” The students nodded and then they all began heading back toward the castle.

Once he was back on the solid earth, Harry took his wand out and melted the ice on the top of the lake while Avery lingered nearby. He wasn’t sure what to make of the affable Slytherin. He certainly wasn’t what Harry had been expecting, having known him only as an adult and loyal Death Eater. Harry stashed his wand and looked expectantly at Avery. “Shall we?” Harry said.

Avery nodded and they started together towards the castle. Avery was having a difficult time beginning whatever conversation he wanted to have. He kept opening his mouth, closing it, and then sighing.

“Forgive me,” Harry said once they passed through the castle’s front doors. “But I have a difficult time thinking you wanted to ask me questions about Unbreakable Vows.”

“You got it in one, professor,” Avery admitted. He almost said something else but shrugged instead.

They stood awkwardly together in the entrance hall for a moment before Harry took mercy on him. “Would you like a cup of tea in my office? I have my midmorning break right now.”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

As they headed up the staircase, they passed Snape, lingering as though he had been waiting for Avery. Avery spoke up. “Professor, would it be okay if Snape joined us?” Harry nodded and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Avery called out, “Hey, Snape, come with us. We’re going to have some tea.”

Snape considered Avery and then Harry and finally shrugged. “Okay.”

As they walked on, Harry became more and more curious about what they were up to and how it involved him. Of all things he had expected when he and Hermione had planned to send him back in time, he had never expected to be inviting two Death Eaters to tea in his private office.

When they arrived, Harry gestured to the two navy wingback chairs and started to make some tea. He muttered “Aguamenti” to fill his teapot with some freshwater, tapped the side of it with his wand to start the water boiling, and scrounged around in his cupboard for his tin of tea leaves.

He wasn’t exactly organized and it took a while to track it down. The entire time he was searching, he was hoping that the two Slytherins would reveal their purpose, but they said nothing to him nor each other. The water had boiled and settled in the pot for a few minutes by the time he found the tea. He opened the lid of the tea tin to sniff it, just in case it was something left behind by the previous professor, but it smelled fresh. He scattered some leaves amongst three cups, poured the water, and place the cups on the desk to steep. He brought out the milk—kept fresh in a small box in his office with a cooling charm—and the jar of sugar.

The two Slytherins had not said a word to each other the entire time that Harry was bustling around his office. Snape sat silently scowling, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Avery kept glancing from the window to the side of Snape’s face and back again. Harry cleared his throat. “So, how can I help you?” Harry said, feeling rather like a shopkeeper once the words were out of his mouth.

“It’s nothing, really,” Avery said. “We were just wondering what your plans were for the Christmas holidays?” Snape frowned at being included in the ‘we’ but said nothing.

“I’m working on a personal research project and plan on remaining at Hogwarts for the duration of the holidays.”

“We have an acquaintance—an old school friend—who has graduated and has managed to make many useful connections, both at the Ministry and elsewhere.”

 _Oh, Merlin, it’s Lucius Malfoy, isn’t it?_ Harry thought to himself with an impending sense of dread. “Really? How interesting.” He stirred some milk into his tea and took a sip.

“His name is Lucius Malfoy,” Avery said. Harry wanted to groan. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him, or his family? He comes from a long line of respectable wizards. Anyway, he’s having a ball for Solstice and he mentioned to me that he would like to extend an invition to you. Word of your exemplary teaching has made it back to him.”

“A ball?” This time, Harry did groan. He couldn’t help it. One Yule Ball had been enough. Avery raised his eyebrows. “Oh, no, it’s nothing. Nothing, just. Not really into balls.” Harry’s eyes grew wide. “I mean, dancing. Dancing balls, not other types of balls, those are fine—ahh.” Snape stared out the window, a faint pink tinge appearing on his cheeks. Harry’s neck was hot again. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, sometimes I do this thing where I just blurt out random things before I think it through.” He took another sip of tea. “Anyway, yes, sure. I’m in for the ball.” _I’m balls in_ , Harry thought, trying not to cackle.

“Excellent,” Avery said. “I will, er, pass that along. Lucius is nothing if not proper, so you can expect a formal invitation to follow by owl.” He stood up then and Snape rose quickly as well. “Thank you for the tea, sir.”

The two Slytherins left and it was only a few minutes later that Harry realized neither of them had touched their tea.

* * *

The rest of Halloween passed without incident. Well, the Halloween feast was spectacular, but no trolls were let into the school and nothing tried to kill him, so it was pretty tame from Harry’s perspective. He was settling into a sort of routine at Hogwarts: classes, grading, staff meetings, more grading, and using every spare moment to search the secret room on the seventh floor for Horcruxes.

The other teachers viewed him as a sort of recluse. Every once in awhile, McGonagall would invite him for tea in her office, and he’d have to spend the afternoon trying not to fall back on old habits. Here they hardly knew each other, but she had almost been a mother figure to Harry, and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from bursting into tears at times. Worse was Dumbledore. He came close, quite a few times, to telling him everything. In the end, though, he kept his mission to himself. The last thing he wanted was for Voldemort to get suspicious that Dumbledore and the Order were aware of his Horcruxes and to make more or to hide them better.

He spent the first Saturday and Sunday that he had free going through the room, picking up objects at random, and trying to sense Dark Magic in them. There were a few cursed objects but nothing as dangerous as a Horcrux. But when he returned the next weekend, he found he had forgotten where he had left off and had to start the whole thing over again. He had carefully considered how to go about searching methodically for a while before coming up with a grid system. There were several windows along each side of the room and he had used those and a few marks on the floor to triangulate the room into sections.

After the first few weekends spent in the room, he had despaired of ever finding a Horcrux, and had taken to spending his evenings in the room as well, as long as he did not have to patrol the corridors after hours.

The strangest thing for him about being sent to the past had nothing to do with seeing his parents or other adults he had known as students. He was surprised by how much work was required of the teachers. He had always pictured teaching as something rather simple to do: teach some classes, grade some papers, and make sure the students don’t die (though he had made that last one a particular challenge for his teachers when he was a student.)

But everything just took so much more of his free time than he had expected. He hated grading and that by far took up most of his free time. He tried to cut back on assignments, but guilt crept in before he cut too many. He did want his students to learn. Assuming that things progressed as they had in his timeline, many of the students would be personally facing war in the near future.

Shortly after Halloween, he had sent out notes to a few of the sixth and seventh-year students who had proven themselves hardworking and talented, inviting them to join the Defence Club he had mentioned at the start of term. He had so much on his plate that it nearly slipped his mind and it took a discussion about the Patronus Charm to remind him.

The first meeting was tonight after dinner and he had no idea how he was going to handle it if any of the would-be Death Eaters showed up. While the idea that you had to be pure of heart to cast the charm was false, someone who had aligned themselves with the Dark Arts would be unable to cast it. He had read about the wizard Raczidan, who had tried to summon a Patronus but instead had conjured—and consumed by—maggots.

Snape could conjure a Patronus, a doe, in his own time. He had used it to lead Harry to the pond where he had found the sword of Gryffindor, which they had used to destroy the locket. They had lost it to Griphook’s treachery. The goblin, not believing them when they said that they wished just as desperately to defeat Voldemort, had stolen the goblin artifact and replaced it with a false sword.

But the other Death Eaters were incapable of casting a Patronus. That was part of what had made the Order’s method of communication so brilliant. The Death Eaters could not send them false messages because they could not even perform the charm. But perhaps as seventh years they might not be as steeped in the Dark Arts. Perhaps they would be able to cast the charm, though Harry would be surprised if it was a chance they were willing to take.

Harry skipped dinner but stopped by the kitchens to beg a sandwich from the house elves, who were happy to comply. When he mentioned he was having students over, they had piled a plate full of chocolate biscuits for him to take and share. He thanked them and headed to his classroom to set up for the lesson. With a quick wave of his wand, he stacked the tables and chairs against the wall so that they would have plenty of room to move around and set the plate of cookies on his desk. On the chalkboard, he wrote: “The Patronus Charm.”

“Good evening, Professor.”

Snape had been the first to arrive and he was surprised that he was actually glad that the Slytherin had come. Despite their history in Harry’s own time, this Snape did not see his old enemy whenever he looked at him, and he was quite a good Defence student. “Welcome, Mr Snape. I’d tell you to have a seat but no desks tonight! We will be practicing the Patronus Charm, as I think I mentioned to you before.” He examined Snape’s face for any hesitancy but found none. “Will your Slytherin friends be joining us?”

Snape shook his head. “No. After careful consideration, they decided that their free time would be better spent on their regular N.E.W.T. coursework. I even told them that we would be learning the Patronus Charm, but not even that could persuade them.”

“Ah, I see.” And Harry did see. Snape was good at not giving anything away, but he had the knack for unobtrusively imparting information. He wasn’t Head of Slytherin for nothing.

“Oh look, it’s Snivellus.”

“Mr Black, please refrain from insulting the students who were invited to this meeting.” Harry twirled his wand casually in his hand. “I’m assuming Potter or Lupin told you? I know I didn’t send you a note.” Snape smirked at that.

Sirius shrugged. “I might not have put the effort I should’ve into the first assignment. I was planning on coming early to ask you to let me into the class anyway, but I guess I wasn’t early enough.”

“Hmm,” Harry said. He pretended to consider for a moment but he was pleased his would-be godfather had chosen to attend. “Let’s use tonight as a test. If I feel like you’ve made the effort, I’ll consider extending the invite.” Sirius grinned.

His parents walked in next, along with a group of sixth-year Gryffindors, and the rest of the students trickled in after them. Virtually all of his sixth-year students that had been invited had chosen to attend. There were just two Ravenclaw seventh years. The rest of them had prioritized studying for their N.E.W.T.s. He was just about to begin the class when Remus walked in, panting as if he had been running. He read the board and said, “The Patronus Charm? Excellent. I’ve been reading about that.” Harry smiled. It was fitting that Remus, the man who taught him how to cast the Patronus Charm, was here.

“Let’s get started!” The students dropped their bags by the wall near the stacked chairs and desks. They stood looking at him expectantly, wands out. “Now, I’m sure you all know the basics: think of a happy memory and then the incantation, ‘Expecto Patronum.’ But you are all smart enough to know that not all magic is that easy.” He smiled. “The key is to focus on a single, happy memory. Not a few different happy memories at once, and it has to be something you can picture clearly.”

“Will you show us yours?” It was his father who asked and Harry smiled at him.

“Expecto Patronum.” His stag burst forth from his wand and cantered around the classroom. It was huge, with magnificent antlers, and some of the students gasped as it passed them. He reached out as if to stroke its nose but it vanished. He met his father’s eyes. “Now, wands out everyone! And chose a very happy memory.”

His class was eager to replicate Harry’s Patronus. He walked through the groups of students and gave them tips as he passed them by, questioned which memories they used to fuel it, and corrected their wand movements. A few of them managed little wisps of silvery gas and he congratulated them.

It was going rather well until Sirius opened his big mouth. “Have you even tried yet, Snape? Not afraid of trying to cast it, are you?” An ugly sneer crossed the Gryffindor’s face. “I’ve heard you’ve got to be pure of heart to cast it and we all know your heart is blacker than your greasy hair.” He laughed.

“Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Black.” His voice came out icy. As much as he loved his godfather, he was sick of him bullying. “And, as per our previous conversation, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Sirius shrugged. “Fine.” James watched his friend leave with a frown.

“Sirius did have a point, professor,” he spoke up as soon as the door had shut. “I’ve been standing near Snape all night and I haven’t seen him even attempt to cast it.” He tilted his chin up and folded his arms across his chest.

“Not that it is any of your business, Mr Potter, but he and I have discussed the Patronus before.” Snape was standing toward the back of the classroom, scowling in the shadows. “Very well. Mr Snape? Would you oblige us with a demonstration?”

Snape stepped forward, still scowling. His angry stare was directed at Potter as he raised his wand and cast an almost defiant, “Expecto Patronum!” He even managed to produce a silvery cloud.

Harry couldn’t help smirking. Only Snape could produce a Patronus while looking so angry. “Well done, Mr Snape. Glad we got that settled. And five points to Slytherin for the demonstration under duress.”

* * *


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to the lovely zalil for beta-ing this chapter! Any remaining mistakes are my own. :)

The owls arrived to deliver the morning post, swooping in just as Severus settled himself at the breakfast table. He had been distracted by an interesting paragraph in his potions textbook and had wanted to cross-reference it with one of the books he had checked out from the Restricted Section. He served himself some beans and toast and had just picked up his fork when a large black envelope landed in his lap. Of the people sitting around him, Avery and Lestrange had received the black envelopes, as had a few other notable sixth and seventh years. The envelope was addressed to him in silver ink. He opened it delicately, tracing his fingers over the Malfoy family crest on the wax seal before he broke it, and pulled out the card inside.

_MR AND MRS LUCIUS MALFOY_

_Request the honour of your presence at their Solstice Ball_

_Wednesday, the Twenty-First of December_

_Nineteen Seventy-Seven_

_At six o’clock in the evening_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Carriages at midnight_

_Répondez s'il vous plaît_

He read through it twice and then set it back down on the table. As soon as his fingers left it, the envelope transformed into a jet black butterfly, much larger than typical, about the size of a robin. It fluttered through a sunbeam and its wings glinted as the light hit it, illuminating a subtle dark green swirling pattern. It fluttered higher and higher before it disappeared against the ceiling, which was a dark storm grey. The envelope had transformed into a small black R.S.V.P. card that he tucked into his bag to fill out and return later.

“Fine bit of Transfiguration,” someone remarked from halfway down the table.

“Yes,” a boy’s voice answered. Severus recognized it as belonging to Regulus Black. “Quite. And naturally, you’ll find the pertinent details inscribed in your datebook—part of the enchantment.” He chuckled and continued, “My cousin was ever so vexed that Solstice fell on a Wednesday this year. You should have heard her go on about it.” He put on a high pitched voice that Severus didn’t think compared to Narcissa’s soft tones. “‘Oh, mother, how could it be on a _Wednesday_? My first time hosting a Solstice Ball and it’s mid-week?’” He and a few of the other sixth years laughed.

Severus ignored them. At the high table, Greene and Slughorn were the only teachers to receive invitations and Slughorn was positively giddy. He took a drink of pumpkin juice from a large gold goblet and spilled some down his front as he turned to say something to McGonagall, who was seated to his left. Slughorn mopped up the pumpkin juice with a napkin as he spoke to her. Her mouth had gone thin, which Severus knew from experience was a sign that she was annoyed. She nodded at Slughorn, who was gesturing wildly at the butterflies, almost jumping up and down in his chair.

Greene, however, regarded his butterfly’s ascent with a guarded expression as he drummed his fingers on the table. He stilled his impatient fingers and then reached toward his own goblet. Greene took a quick drink and then his tongue darted out to lick at the dampness left behind on his lips. Severus couldn’t look away.

Sometime around the beginning of November, Severus had finally admitted to himself just how much he liked watching Professor Greene. He liked watching him when he went for his jog around the lake, though he had left the castle less frequently as the weather turned. He liked watching him as he moved through the corridors, interacting casually with the students as if they had been friends for years. Though his scar had startled many of them at first, now it was almost forgotten. Even the first-year Hufflepuffs had learned to see past the disfigurement. Severus liked watching him as he talked and laughed with McGonagall at the high table during meals. He liked watching him as he faded into a state of intense concentration when they had played chess together.

But most of all, Severus liked watching him teach. He had such a presence. His vigour was almost palpable. He had an aura of energy when he taught as if a cloud full of lightning circled him. He rarely sat at his desk during classes, preferring to prowl around the room like a caged lion, and spoke of his subject passionately. Sometimes his lectures were quiet and dangerous and sometimes he almost shouted. He was on track to teach them more in a year than any teacher they had had before. There were many times during Greene’s lectures that Severus sat frozen in his chair, forgetting to take notes, spellbound watching him.

In Severus’s opinion, part of what made Greene such a good teacher was that he had chosen only the most interesting things to teach and they were all things that Greene himself felt strongly about. And he took time with each of his students individually to make sure that they were learning the materials. Even the younger Slytherins had grown comfortable enough to approach him about their problems.

But most fascinatingly, at least to Severus, was when every once in awhile Greene would forget himself and display truly powerful magic. He had shown that he was well versed in wandless magic and could perform even complicated spells without his wand, though he never verbally acknowledged it. Severus longed to discover Greene’s secrets and found his eyes continually drawn toward him.

Of course, Avery had noticed him watching Greene, the prat. And Avery wasn’t being subtle about the jokes he made, not anymore. They had started subtle but the past month he had grown bolder with his comments. Severus was worried that everyone in Slytherin would soon be made aware of his, as Avery called it, ‘infatuation.’ 

“Are you even listening? Have you heard a single thing I’ve said since the invitations arrived?” Avery paused and followed Severus’s gaze toward the high table. In a low voice, he said, “Merlin, Snape, stop staring at him. He’s just trying to eat his breakfast.” He laughed at Severus’s glare.

“Shut up, Avery,” Severus replied as he speared his beans onto his fork. “I was not watching him. I just happened to be looking over there when you looked at me. You’re making it sound like I’m some simpering schoolgirl with a crush—“ Avery sniggered. “Don’t laugh! You’re attracting attention,” Severus hissed as his face heated and he kicked Avery under the table. “Will you stop!”

After nearly a minute of Severus glowering at him while he laughed, Avery managed to calm himself down. He wiped tears out of his eyes and said, “You know, there might be a reason you sound like a schoolgirl with a crush,” before he broke out into hysterical guffaws again. Severus kicked him harder under the table but it still had no effect. He huffed and left the table, abandoning his half-eaten breakfast. 

* * *

It had been a few weeks since the Patronus lesson with Greene’s Defence Club and Severus had yet to pay Black back for forcing his hand. He resented Black’s interference. He had almost refused to cast the Patronus during the lesson since he had not been quite confident he would be able to without repercussions. He had done more than a little dabbling in Dark Magic.

He suspected that Greene knew more about Dark Magic than he presented in class, judging by the few times he had shown them extraordinary magic as if by accident, and Severus hoped that he would become comfortable enough with his Defence Club enough to share that knowledge. Severus, not for the first time, stomped down welling envy at Black’s waste of a life. If Severus had been born to the Noble and Ancient House of Black and had access to their avenues of influence, and their library, he wouldn’t have spurned such an opportunity. Black rejecting all of that proved how much of an idiot he was. He hated how Black spurned the many chances he was given. And he hated how Black disdained him for wishing he had been given a fraction of the same options.

That was why, as they headed through the crowded Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall, Severus pulled out a small vial, unstoppered it, and bumped into Black.

“Hey, watch it, Snivellus!” Black cried.

“Watch yourself, Black,” he snapped back, his hand hidden in the folds of his robes. He didn’t pay the muttering Gryffindor any attention as he made his way to the table and sat next to Avery, ducking his head to hide his pleased expression.

The amount of liquid hadn’t been enough for Black to notice on his robes. And, because Severus had added a time delay component to the potion so that it would be a few minutes before anything happened, he would have plausible deniability. He served himself some steak and kidney pudding and made idle conversation with Avery about their essay due next week for Herbology. He had almost finished his dinner when shouts erupted from the Gryffindor table. As he and the rest of the Slytherins turned toward the noise, he grabbed his goblet to hide his smirk.

Black’s hair had turned an iridescent purple. He normally wore his hair long, well beyond shabby, but as the school watched, it grew down past his shoulders. He leaped up and his flowing purple mane trailed behind him as he walked away from the table. Black scratched at his scalp and pulled out his wand. He muttered a few spells but the hair kept growing.

It passed his waist and tangled around his arm as he turned and made eye contact with Severus. He yelled, “Fuck you, Snape! I know this was you!” Severus’s face heated slightly as the students turned toward him, but he raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he had no idea what Black was talking about. Black let out a frustrated groan. As his hair grew past his knees, he stomped towards the Entrance Hall. He disappeared through the doors, presumably on his way to the hospital wing, his brilliant purple hair dragging on the ground behind him.

The whole Great Hall broke out into laughter. Even the teachers wore smiles. It was a harmless prank, though Severus had made sure the hair growth was very itchy, and Black himself was well known for pranks. Most people probably assumed one of his fellow Gryffindors was responsible. But Severus knew, and that was enough.

Severus finished his dinner and the commotion died down after a few minutes. He placed his fork and knife across his plate, blotted his mouth with his napkin, and stood to leave. He said goodbye to Avery, who was in the middle of a conversation about Hippogriffs with one of the sixth years. As he walked through the doors into the Entrance Hall he found himself flanked by Regulus Black.

“Walk with me?” Regulus asked.

Severus stopped mid-step, assessing, and then nodded. “Of course.” They headed toward the Slytherin common room

Severus avoided looking at the younger Black as they walked. It was always better to let the other party speak first and so he allowed the silence to grow. There was no love lost between him and his Gryffindor brother and, if rumours were to be believed, they hadn’t said a single word to each other at school since Regulus had sorted into Slytherin. Regulus’s face gave nothing away and he remained silent for several minutes. They walked until they reached the cool dampness that indicated that they were near the entrance to the dungeons and headed toward their common room.

“A potion?” Regulus asked as they descended a flight of stone stairs.

Severus didn’t bother to deny it. “Yes,” he confirmed. Even if Regulus were upset with him, which he doubted, a Slytherin would never turn in a housemate to a teacher.

Regulus stopped halfway through the corridor. He turned to Severus, his dark eyes appraising. “Narcissa told me that she intended to invite you to the Malfoy’s ball.”

Severus raised his eyebrow, now truly puzzled, and inclined his head in a small nod. “Yes. I received an invitation this morning.”

“Have you ever been to a ball before?” Regulus smirked. “I mean a proper one, with people of influence, not a Muggle travesty.” And there it was: the same mocking tone that Sirius Black had been using on Severus since their first year.

He scowled down at the younger boy. “And what is it to you, Black?” he snapped.

But instead of becoming angry, Regulus laughed and threw up his hands. “No, no! I was just proposing a trade, is all.” He leaned against the stone wall and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m rubbish at Potions—don’t know how I managed an E on my O.W.L.s, to be honest—but Mother’s determined I continue with it and sit my N.E.W.T.s next year.” He shrugged. “I just thought, well, I mean I’ve been taught all about balls and manners and etiquette and that sort of thing since I could walk. And I know that with your, ah, background you might need some assistance.” He shrugged again. “I would be willing to help you evade a social blunder in return for your tutelage in Potions,” he said, his formal words at odds with his relaxed stance.

Severus considered the offer. There had been moments during his first few years at Hogwarts where he had committed some small faux pas, though those incidents were becoming rarer. It was true that he was inexperienced. He was not aware of the customs surrounding the type of ball that he had been invited to, but had sort of expected to stay at his table, avoid dancing, and spend the night amongst his fellow Slytherins who were still at Hogwarts.

But perhaps, if he swept in confident and gracious, he might be able to catch an influential person’s eye and use this ball as an opportunity. Severus planned for the future, always, and the opportunities for half-blood Slytherins who were neither rich nor good looking were few and far between. At this rate, no matter the results of his N.E.W.T.s, he was on track to be a clerk at an Apothecary, making little money and gaining little respect in the process. Without someone to take him on as an apprentice, it would be years before he gained a Mastery in either Defence or Potions, the two subjects he was most interested in studying.

It couldn’t be too hard to give Regulus a few private lessons. “Agreed,” he said.

“Excellent, Snape,” Regulus said with a small grin. “I’m free on Monday afternoons and Tuesday evenings. Which day would you prefer?”

“Tuesdays are more convenient.”

They shook hands, briefly, and then went their separate ways. Severus continued to their dormitory, while Regulus doubled back to the Great Hall.

* * *

The next day dawned cold and grey and there was a distinct chill in the air as he headed toward the greenhouses. He had brought his dragonhide gloves for the lesson and pulled them on to guard against the cold. The frost crunched underneath his shoes as he crossed the lawn. The other N.E.W.T. students had already arrived and he joined the crowd of Slytherins off to one side of the group as they waited for Professor Sprout.

“Good morning, seventh-years! We will be heading to greenhouse three today. I have a new specimen to show you.” Professor Sprout beckoned them to follow her as she unlocked the door to greenhouse three and stepped inside. Severus and the other students filed into the greenhouse, breathing in its earthy scent. It was warmer in here than outside and Severus loosened his tie as he shifted into place beside Avery. Lestrange brushed his shoulder on the other side and Severus nodded to him cordially and got a small smile in return.

“The Venomous Tentacula!” Sprout beamed at the green spiky plant that sat on the center of the table. A small vine inched toward her and she swatted it away playfully, still grinning. “Just arrived! The headmaster agreed to let me start a breeding program here at Hogwarts,” she said with a happy sigh. “They are quite useful. We had one during my own time at Hogwarts, but that was before…” she trailed off. “Never mind that now. What can you tell me about this plant?”

Evans cleared her throat and Sprout nodded at her. “It is both venomous and poisonous,” she said. “It secretes a poisonous juice. I believe it turns its victims purple?”

“Well done, Evans. Five points!”

A Ravenclaw boy raised his hand and then said, “Its seeds are valuable, magically, and they emit a rattling noise even when not moving.”

“Indeed!” She narrowed her eyes at the dark-haired boy. “And they are a Class C non-tradable substance, Stevens. Keep that in mind,” she said firmly. “Five points.”

“Their leaves are often utilized in potions,” Severus said. “And quite expensive. I believe their current market rate is nine galleons a pound.”

Sprout turned her frown to him. “Hmm. Of course, their leaves are closely monitored as well, and I will know if any leaves go missing. But five points, Mr Snape.” She clapped her dirty hands together and said, “Now pair up! Today we will be harvesting seeds. Keep an eye on its fangs, mind.”

Severus turned toward Avery but he had paired up with a dark-skinned Gryffindor girl and was leaning close to her, nodding intently at whatever she was saying. Severus rolled his eyes. He moved toward the table where the plant sat and placed his hand on the edge. A vine crept toward him much more quickly than any plant he had yet encountered. He brushed the tendril away as he had seen Sprout do when it reached his hand and it shrank back. An interesting specimen, to be sure. The centre of the plant was basically a giant head with fangs, though he could see no eyes. He had read about them and had used the leaves in potions, but he had never seen them up close. The seeds were visible amongst the thorns.

“We appear to have been made partners by means of exclusion,” Lestrange’s soft voice said behind him.

Severus turned around and considered Lestrange for a moment before nodding. “Very well,” he said. He wasn’t sure what to make of Lestrange. They had had something of a relationship for almost a year, though Lestrange had never acknowledged him publicly, of course. But after that night at Slughorn’s party, he had ignored him for weeks, speaking to him only recently to ask for a favour.

Lestrange pulled on his dragonhide gloves and they began to operate on one of the larger vines, harvesting seeds while avoiding its spikes. The silence between them was icy, but they worked efficiently together. They collected almost as many seeds as the Ravenclaw Herbology protégé, at least, and at the end of the lesson, neither of them had been bit or stung or turned purple. Lestrange deposited their collected seeds with Professor Sprout while Severus brushed the dirt from his gloves. He smoothed down the front of his robes and cast a cleaning charm on a dark spot on his sleeve.

“Careful, Snape,” Lestrange said in a low voice. Severus started as one of the vines snaked around his neck. Lestrange leaned toward him and picked it off carefully. “You must watch the vines quite closely. They will try to strangle you if you don’t pay attention.” He was standing quite close to Severus. Which was more dangerous? Lestrange continued, “We have a few in our greenhouse back home. Father has had me working with them during the summers for several years.” He shifted closer still to Severus, his body heat radiating toward him through his school robes. Severus shivered.

“I’m planning on going to that ball at the Malfoys,” Severus said before he could stop himself. 

“Good.” Lestrange’s hot breath warmed Severus’s cheek. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Lestrange whispered, “Save me a dance.”

Severus nodded. He didn’t open his eyes until Lestrange had gone.

As he crawled into his bed later that night, Severus asked himself whether he was disappointed that nothing else had happened or disappointed that he allowed Lestrange to affect him. He didn’t even like Lestrange. And he certainly couldn’t explain, not even to himself, why his heartbeat sped up at the memory of Lestrange’s breath on his cheek.

* * *


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to my beta, the wonderful zalil, for looking over this chapter for me! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

After a jog around the lake one Sunday morning, Harry stopped by the kitchens for a bite to eat. He had fallen into the habit of skipping meals at the high table and grabbed food directly from the kitchens on weekends when his presence wasn’t required in the Great Hall for meals. A late November chill had settled deep in his bones. It hadn’t snowed yet, but the air had grown quite crisp and there was a thin layer of frost on the grass. He had cast a few warming charms on himself but they wore off quickly and hot chocolate and warm soup worked better than magic, or at least that had been his experience.

“Sir has been spending much of his time in the Come and Go Room,” a house-elf called Galby said as he plopped one large marshmallow into Harry’s mug.

“The Come and Go Room?” Harry asked, puzzled. He took the drink and sipped it, letting the warmth of the hot chocolate spread through him with a happy sigh.

“Yes, sir. The Room of Requirement, sir, it is also called. We house-elves hope that Professor Greene, sir, is finding what yous has lost there, sir.”

 _Lost? Of course!_ He leaned forward eagerly. “You mean to say that the house-elves know about this, er, ‘Come and Go Room?’ The room where I’ve been spending a lot of my time?”

“Yes, sir.” The elf tugged at his large ear, his yellow eyes wide.

So this mysterious room had been discovered by more than those just wishing to stash things. The more he considered it, the more the room intrigued him. To think there was a room in Hogwarts that the house-elves were aware of but that Dumbledore himself had never discovered.

He took another sip. “I’ve been looking for something in the room but have been having quite the time of it. What else do you know about the room?”

The elf described the process for getting into the room: pace three times and concentrate hard on your request. Harry had worked that bit out for himself, but was surprised to learn that it could only be accessed by those with a true need for it.

“Only those with true need? What does that mean?” Harry asked.

“The room won’t open if you don’t need it, sir,” Galby replied, slowly, as if speaking to someone mentally deficient. He set a bowl of soup on the table in front of Harry and left him alone with his thoughts. Harry watched the steam rising from it before he took a spoonful and brought it to his mouth.

Harry _did_ need the room. He was sure, somehow, that Voldemort had hidden a Horcrux there, though he couldn’t have explained why. And what Harry needed more than anything was to defeat Voldemort once and for all. He had more questions about how the room worked, but he worried that the house-elves knew too much already. Word of his activities couldn’t reach Dumbledore and the elves had already figured out that he was spending his time in this Come and Go Room. Until he found the Horcrux, Harry couldn’t afford to draw attention to his activities.

Galby returned with a plate of chocolate biscuits after Harry had finished his soup. Harry took a bite and steered the conversation to other subjects, hoping to drive the discussion about the room from the elf’s mind, and they talked about which pies the elves were planning on making for the Christmas Feast.

He asked questions of Galby that he had never had a chance to ask Dobby, like what his favorite food was (chocolate), whether he liked to go outside (only in the summer), and whether he still kept in touch with his family. The last question had given the elf pause and he had turned away, his eyes shining with tears, reminding Harry strongly of Dobby right before he bashed the lamp over his head.

“Sorry, Galby, forget I asked!” Harry insisted as the elf wiped the corner of his eye with the old napkin he wore as a sort of poncho.

“No sir, Galby is okay. It is just, sir, if you will, Galby is not used to being asked these sorts of questions by wizards, sir.”

“Of course, I quite understand. You are a good elf and Hogwarts is happy to have you here.” Harry regretted saying this immediately as Galby burst out into loud wails.

“Sir is too kind!”

Harry awkwardly patted him on the back before three more house-elves swarmed around him and tugged him away from Harry and set him up in front of the fire. “Sorry,” he told them. They glared at him reproachfully. “I’ll just go. Right. Er… Thanks!” He bid a hasty retreat to his quarters.

On his way back, he wished he had asked Galby more questions about the Come and Go Room. He sipped his hot chocolate. Perhaps he could employ one of the castle’s house-elves to help him search through the room. Dobby’s magic had been of an unusual sort, allowing him to apparate where wizards were unable.

He did not want word of his task getting back to Dumbledore, however, and he wasn’t quite sure if the elves were employed by (and therefore loyal to) Dumbledore or to Hogwarts itself. If their first allegiance was to the castle, Harry was reasonably certain that he could explain the situation by stating that he was simply searching for objects containing Dark Magic. Maybe he could even say something about how he was doing it for the school.

* * *

Harry had never been good at sleeping through the night. As a child at Privet Drive, he would creep out of his cupboard after the Dursleys had fallen asleep to sneak the food that he had been denied during the day. At Hogwarts, he had had mandatory astronomy classes at midnight every Wednesday, not to mention the many nighttime adventures he had undertaken under his father’s invisibility cloak. While curfew was regularly enforced when students were caught wandering the halls, no one paid any attention if they stayed up late in their common rooms. And when he and Hermione had spent their years in the cabin, Harry had found that the nighttime hours were his most productive and had had nearly all of his wandless magic breakthroughs in the early hours of the morning.

So it wasn’t much of a shock that after all of those years keeping an irregular schedule Harry found it difficult to implement a normal schedule now. And it wasn’t surprising that one Tuesday night at 11 o’clock Harry found himself meandering through the halls of Hogwarts, wearing his father’s invisibility cloak to avoid the teachers and prefects that were on patrol looking for students, hiding from the ghosts who never slept and the poltergeist that had existed since time immemorial to cause trouble. Hermione hadn’t been sure whether his father’s cloak would make it back with him to the past—something about two identical objects being unable to exist within the same universe—but Harry was thankful that it had made the journey, especially on nights like tonight.

Snow fell in thick flakes outside the windows as he roamed the third-floor corridor near where Fluffy had guarded the Stone during his first year at Hogwarts, his mind drifting back to that first time that he could remember facing Voldemort, when he heard music. He drifted toward it, still concealed under his cloak, and the faint murmur of voices floated toward him from an empty classroom. He crept closer.

“Well done, Severus,” a male voice said. “You have made quite the improvement over the course of just a few short lessons.”

“Thank you,” Snape replied in a quiet tone.

“You are quite nimble on your feet for someone unaccustomed to dancing.” Harry edged closer to the crack in the door and peered through to see Regulus Black standing close to Snape, one hand clasped on his hip and another gripping his hand firmly.

“You are a natural. It’s been a pleasure to teach you,” Regulus Black nearly purred. He leaned closer to Snape and Harry watched as Snape’s cheeks flushed.

Harry stepped back into the hallway, moving back from the door. He should probably just leave and let one of the prefects or teachers that were actually on patrol tonight stumble upon them and handle the two Slytherins. He turned to head back down the corridor just as Regulus’s high laugh echoed out into the hallway, sending a cold trickle of dread up his spine. The laugh bore too much of a resemblance to his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black. His fist clenched as he made up his mind to confront the two Slytherins. He pulled off his invisibility cloak and folded it to fit neatly in one of his pockets, and after tucking it carefully away—it certainly wouldn’t do for anyone to see him with an invisibility cloak, never mind this one—he barged into the room with a bang.

The two students jumped away from each other in shock, their eyes wide as they took in the sight of their professor. The torches flickered light on the walls as Harry strode into the room, schooling his face into a look of stern disapproval.

Regulus recovered himself first and said, “Hello, Professor Greene.”

“Black and Snape. It is well past curfew.” He quirked an eyebrow at the record player in the corner. “Dancing? Really?”

And then, Regulus Black, who always remained quiet in class and never spoke unless asked a direct question, walked toward him with a boldness befitting any Gryffindor. He bowed and offered his hand. “May I have this dance, Professor?”

Before he could splutter out a retort, Black had swept him into his arms and steered him expertly onto the makeshift dance floor. The younger Slytherin’s hand was warm in his own and a half-smile flitted across his face as they spun in a circle. Harry found himself relaxing into the movements of the dance, his long-forgotten lessons coming back to him as the Slytherin led.

It was a novel experience for Harry, who had only danced a handful of times at the Yule Ball years ago, and he had been only taught to lead. Instead of putting a stop to it as perhaps he should have done, Harry stared down at the mysterious R.A.B., the proud son of the Black family, who would go on to join and then betray Voldemort.

“Very well,” he said in a soft voice after a moment and Black smirked in triumph.

As they passed by the edge of the improvised dance floor near where the other Slytherin stood, Snape raised one eyebrow at Black, who shrugged, and Snape huffed and moved toward the end of the room near the record player. He slid into one of the desks and extracted a book, which he then began to read, deliberately ignoring them while seemingly also patient to wait out whatever Black had planned.

“My cousin Narcissa told me that you are planning to attend her ball over the holidays, Professor,” Black said in a hushed voice.

“Yes, well, I was persuaded to go,” he said and his eyes sought Snape, who turned the page, unconcerned. “Should be interesting, even though I have no experience with this sort of thing.”

“No?” Black prompted. “But you can manage the steps. You must have done this before, though clearly you are used to leading.” He flashed a quick smile and Harry chuckled.

“I went to a ball, once, ages ago, but it was enough to put me off them forever, to be honest.”

“So what changed your mind about this one?” Black asked as he spun them around in a tight circle on the floor. “Not that I’m complaining or attempting to persuade you not to attend.”

Harry deliberately did not look in Snape’s direction.

“As I said, I was persuaded.” He chewed his lip as he debated revealing anything else. “There might be a few people there I might be interested in meeting,” he said at last. He had to dance a fine line between allegiances.

“Oh? Whom?” Black’s eyes were wide as he blinked up at Harry.

Harry snorted. “You’re rather more direct out of class, Black,” he said. He stopped the dance. As Harry extracted himself from Black’s grip and stepped back, the boy smiled and gave a polite bow.

“Very well. It was a pleasure, Professor.”

Harry chuckled at the boldness. “You know, I do have to take points for being out after curfew.”

“I know. But perhaps first, some additional practice is in order?” Harry started to shake his head but Black continued. “Dear Severus needs all of the practice he can get, I’m afraid.”

“Ah—no. That’s enough for tonight, boys,” Harry said.

“But you are a homosexual?” Black asked, his tone light. In the corner, Snape dropped his book.

“Yes,” Harry replied.

“Then you both need all of the practice you can get. There are different customs involved for men of your persuasion. Take points, Professor, but allow me to train you to avoid a debacle at the ball. You are a passable teacher and I would not wish you to shame yourself.”

“Passable?” Harry asked, affronted, and Black smirked. Harry considered the offer reluctantly. Merlin knew he was pants at this sort of thing. “Fine,” he said, his voice resigned.

Black grinned. “Severus! Let us put those new skills to work!”

“Very well,” Snape ground out. He placed a bookmark in his book, set the book slowly down on the desk, and slid out of the chair. He took a few slow steps toward them and then paused, his uncertain face turned toward Black.

Black stepped in and said, “Professor, as the elder of two of equal status, it falls on you to ask Mr Snape to dance.”

Snape nodded and looked expectantly at Harry, his dark eyes wide. Harry reached up and loosened the collar of his shirt, his neck hot. “Very well. Mr Snape, may I have this dance?”

Snape nodded and allowed Harry to take his hand, his fingers cool and bony. Harry’s other hand hovered for a moment over Snape’s waist before it settled tentatively. He stared, transfixed by the sight of his hand against the black fabric of Snape’s robes, and it wasn’t until Snape cleared his throat impatiently that Harry remembered they were supposed to be dancing. He picked up the pace and managed a few steps before he stomped on Snape’s feet. Snape swore under his breath.

“Professor, I believe I can identify the issue,” Black chimed in from the sidelines. “It is you who is supposed to be leading. You’re the elder.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. Snape glared down at him, which transported Harry momentarily back to Professor Snape’s Potions class. He winced. “Can we try again? I think I’ve got it now.”

Snape sneered. “Careful, I only have the one set of feet.” Harry waited for him to add ‘Potter,’ but of course he didn’t.

They set off again and Harry managed to steer them properly across the dance floor this time. Snape positively glided, his dark robes trailing in their wake. He was light on his feet, anticipating where Harry would direct him before he even knew himself. Harry’s thumb rubbed across Snape’s hipbone as they moved. He marveled at the feel of it: the Slytherin was so slender.

Their faces were inches apart and those dark eyes, the ones that had reminded Harry of tunnels when he was younger, pulled him in as if he were falling into a dark pool. Harry’s mouth fell open and he licked his lips, his mouth dry. Snape’s grip on his shoulder tightened and he broke eye contact, staring instead at a fixed point somewhere behind Harry’s head.

“Better, Professor,” Snape admitted in a grudging tone.

Harry watched Snape as they danced, a low fire burning in his chest. His skin was so smooth. As they spun, his dark hair fell across his right cheekbone, silky as it framed his pale face. Snape’s lips fell open and he exhaled in small pants as the dance picked up the pace, a faint tinge of pink on his cheeks.

He wondered what it would have been like to dance with his Snape. Would he have breath quickened ever so slightly? Would his face remain fixed, immovable, or would his brow smooth and his lips quirk up in a pleased smile? Were his feet as swift on the dance floor? But Harry would never get the chance to find out. His Snape was dead.

It struck him then, Snape’s hip bony underneath his thumb, that he probably knew Snape best of all of the people here in the past. His parents he hardly remembered, nor had he truly even known his godfather. Sirius had spent what little time they had had together on the run and they had shared more letters than conversations. Lupin had only taught him for a year. While Minerva had taught him for longer, and though she had always cared for him, had kept him at an arm’s length, a somewhat inscrutable Head of House. And there were times, especially now, that Harry was sure that he had never known Dumbledore at all.

But Severus Snape had taught him for six years. He had trained him in Occlumency and Harry had seen into his mind. Harry could still picture the small boy cowering at Spinner’s End. He remembered the teenager turned upside down by Harry’s father’s curse and how the Slytherin had lashed out in anger and fear at his only friend and lost her forever. He had seen Snape at his worst: trading the secrets of the prophecy to Voldemort. But he had witnessed a far greater humiliation than the schoolboy assault, when Snape turned to Dumbledore, begging, to help the friend that he had lost. He had seen him dejected and pleading.

As he looked at the smooth, unlined face of this Severus Snape, Harry knew that this man was not yet all that he would become. Harry knew more about that man, his Snape, than this student knew about his future self. He gripped the long, cool fingers tighter as they danced, clutching him as if he were his single connection to the past he had left behind in the future. The music played on and Harry’s head grew tired. He rested it against Snape’s shoulder, tears welling behind his eyes, as he remembered all that he had lost.

Sometime later, after the music stopped, Snape removed his hand from Harry’s shoulder and placed it over the hand that rested at his waist, Harry realized he had been absentmindedly tracing Snape’s hipbone with his thumb for the entirety of the dance. He froze in horror and lifted his head, sure that Snape was about to curse him. But Snape stepped away, his face flushed and unreadable, and bowed his head courteously. A curtain of dark hair fell in front of his face.

Harry bowed in return. “Thank you,” he said. Snape nodded as he pulled away. He wrapped his robes tighter around his body and Harry did the same as the warmth of the closeness of their dance gave way to a cool castle draught.

The classroom was empty except for the two of them. Regulus had left them sometime while they danced. He checked his watch: one o’clock am. They had been dancing for hours! He turned toward the wall and rubbed the moisture from his eyes. Harry could hear Snape cast a few spells on the record player, shrinking it and lightening its weight. Harry turned toward him, watching as he put it in his book bag and grabbed his books to stow as well. Harry stood dumbly, unable to command his feet to move or for his eyes to turn away. Warmth ran up his back, tingling up along his spine. He ran his fingers through his damp hair and cleared his throat in an effort to collect himself.

As Snape walked past him to leave, he said, “Goodnight, Professor,” in his velvet tones and Harry reached for his wrist with the lightning-fast reflexes that had made him such a good Seeker. His fingers encircled Snape’s wrist and he held him there as Snape shifted from foot to foot. Snape’s pulse beat rapidly against his fingertips.

“Save me a dance, Snape?” Harry asked in a whisper. Snape stared at him with a black expression, his dark eyes unreadable, as the torchlight flickered across his severe profile.

“Of course,” he replied. Harry released his grip and Snape strode off, his robes billowing behind him.

* * *

Later that night, he slid between his fresh sheets and, with a wave of one hand, turned the lights off. The fire flickered in the hearth, dimly, as the last of the log smouldered down to ash. He was reminded of Snape’s profile lit by the dim torches, and his hand reached under his blankets to his own hip bone, which was neither as bony nor as delicious. His left hand snaked its way under his shirt and he ran his fingers over his left nipple until it peaked into a hard nub before he moved on to the other.

His right hand drifted lower still, raising the band of his underwear, and found the hard length of his cock waiting for him. He teased himself with slow strokes as his mind conjured Professor Snape’s voice low and dangerous in his ear, whispering, “Potter,” in the disdainful way that Harry had grown used to during Potions class.

As his breathing quickened, he closed his eyes and pictured the way Snape’s breaths had given way to pants as they had danced across the floor together. Harry imagined the tight grip of his hand on his shoulder, the way his cool fingers clasped his, and the feel of Snape’s hipbone under his thumb. And then he finally, finally allowed himself to remember that night, now months ago, when he had seen Snape on his knees, Lestrange’s hand buried in his black hair, his mouth full. Harry shivered as his mind produced the memory of Snape’s swollen red lips as he begged for detention to spare his shame, his hair tangled and his cheeks flushed, and how he had insisted that he had been a willing participant.

His hand sped up under the blanket as he fell back in time and remembered how well his Snape had known him, how he had never seen him as the Boy Who Lived or treated him as the famous Harry Potter. Snape had seen into his mind and knew truths he had never shared with either Ron or Hermione. He had been cruel, yes, but he had always looked out for him and had always protected him. Even when Harry had chased him from Hogwarts and called him a coward, Snape had never turned his wand against him. He wondered if his Snape would have danced with him.

He came with a groan, almost but not quite able to feel his professor’s hard body against his own. After he finished, he cast a wandless _Evanesco_ on himself and turned over on his mattress, too tired for self-analysis. Instead, he pushed the dance from his mind and reached for the glass of water on his bedside table, took a sip, and turned over in his bed until he found a comfortable position.

Just before Harry fell asleep, it occurred to him that he should have deducted points from the two Slytherins for being out of bed after curfew.

* * *


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to my wonderful beta zalil for all of the help and encouragement! Any mistakes remaining are my own.

“You look good tonight, Snape,” Lestrange said, his voice loud in Slughorn’s crowded office.

“Thank you,” Severus replied stiffly. He nodded at the seventh year Ravenclaw girl that Lestrange had brought as his date. “Good evening, Miss Crous.”

“Snape,” she said. She pulled Lestrange’s arm, retreating from the light cast from the fire. In the shadows, her hand drifted down Lestrange’s back, a smile playing on her lips. She placed a kiss against his jaw. Severus looked away.

The air, heated by the fire and the clustering of bodies, pressed around him as he drank the rest of his tea. He and his fellow students were dressed in their finest, waiting for their time of departure. It had been planned strategically, Regulus had told him, so as not to crowd the Malfoy’s wards. The guests were to arrive in batches—either by Floo, apparition, or portkey—at the Malfoy’s carriage house. The building not only housed the horses and carriages, but also a large fireplace connected to the Floo Network as well as a space large enough to accommodate several groups of visitors at a time.

“What, no date, Greene? You can’t be going to the ball alone, surely?” Slughorn asked as Greene walked through the door absently adjusting his navy blue dress robes.

“Nope, no date tonight. I had no one to ask, seeing as I’m newly returned to the country.” Greene had tied his hair back with a matching silk ribbon, trapping his curls at the nape of his neck. “Not everyone has your spider’s web of connections, Professor Slughorn.”

Slughorn chuckled. “Indeed not. Speaking of which, have I introduced you to my dear friend, Zahra Jaziri? She works for the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.” He was clutching a dark-haired woman’s arm and he pulled her forward as he spoke. She nodded politely.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Greene said.

“But really, you can’t truly be attending alone,” Slughorn insisted. “I know that it is more difficult for men of your—ah—persuasion. I was just lamenting to Zahra that poor Mr Snape is also without accompaniment.”

Severus set his teacup down on the desk with a clatter and a nearby sixth year smothered a laugh with his sleeve.

“Why not ask Mr Snape to accompany you to the dance?” Slughorn continued.

“T-that would hardly be appropriate. I am his teacher.”

“Pfft! You’re but a young man yourself. You’re what, twenty-two or twenty-three?”

“Twenty-one, actually. But that is quite beside the point.”

“Well, it is rather last minute.” He hummed, considering. “But you should at least ask young Mr Snape for a dance,” Slughorn pressed.

“Would it not be improper for me to dance publicly with a student?” Greene asked.

 _But he has already promised me a dance,_ Severus thought and swallowed thickly.

Slughorn clapped the other man on the arm and laughed. “Come, now. It’s a ball, Greene, not a marriage!”

Greene replied to his shoes. “But Dumbledore would hardly—“

“Dear boy, Dumbledore doesn’t have to know everything.”

The clock on the wall chimed and halted their conversation.

“Ah, that’s our cue!” Slughorn brushed some biscuit crumbs from his lapel.

Severus met Greene’s eyes across the small office. “Mr Snape, would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with me?” His words were stiff and his back had gone rigid, though Severus thought he could detect a faint smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

There was a short silence and Severus felt all of the eyes in the room considering them. “Yes,” he replied. “Sir.”

“Good! Now that that’s settled. My dear?” Slughorn held his arm out for his date and they moved toward the fire. He grabbed a pot of Floo powder and offered it to his guest. She swept her long black hair behind her ear as she stepped into the hearth.

“Malfoy Manor!” she said. The flames erupted and she vanished.

“Greene, would you mind too terribly much if I went on ahead?” Slughorn was already stepping into the fire. “Just make sure all of the students come on through after me.” He passed the pot of powder to Greene and disappeared quickly after his date.

“Who’s next?” Greene asked.

Lestrange and his date stepped forward. The Ravenclaw girl’s hair had escaped its pinning and she hurriedly attempted to refasten it as they vanished through the fire. The remaining students queued up, straightening dress robes, fixing hair, or applying a final coat of lipstick.

But Severus drifted back toward the bookshelf in the corner of the office. He pulled down a musky book and flipped through the pages, his heart rate speeding up with each call of “Malfoy Manor,” knowing that it would be his turn soon enough.

“Mr Snape?” Greene said finally.

“Here,” he said as he stepped forward, leaving the book on Slughorn’s desk.

“I’m sorry that Slughorn put us on the spot like that,” Greene said.

Severus tried to read his face: did he regret asking him?

“It is better for both of us to have a prior commitment for at least one dance, officially,” Severus told him. “Black wasn’t worried about my reputation, per se. I’m still a student and my—er—proclivities preclude easy attachments. But I do not doubt that your reputation will be slightly enhanced.” He looked down. “Even if it’s just me.”

Warm, calloused fingers gripped his. “I’m honoured to dance with you.” Severus looked up and a genuine smile spread across his face. “I just want to be sure that you don’t feel pressured. I wouldn’t want you to feel as though you were, well, forced into anything.”

“Not at all,” Severus replied.

A few seconds of silence passed and then Greene dropped his fingers. “After you, Mr Snape,” he said.

Severus grabbed the powder and threw it down onto the fire as he stepped into it. He called out “Malfoy Manor” in a clear, even voice, and a moment later, he stepped out of the hearth into a large carriage house. The rest of the Hogwarts students were following Slughorn and Ms Jaziri up a long gravel walkway to the main house.

Two suits of armour stood on either side of the large stone fireplace, the light of the flickering flames reflecting off their silver metalwork. The building was big enough to fit two of the houses he’d lived in on Spinner’s End. To his left, there were several stalls for horses, and he smelled the sweet scent of hay, and under that, faintly, the smell of manure.

A small burgundy loveseat and dark mahogany coffee table were arranged in front of the fire, and Severus had just bent over to admire the elaborate Persian rug that spread out underneath it when Professor Greene came crashing through the grate and landed on the rug face first in a cloud of soot and ash.

He stood up, rubbing his elbow, and said, “Sorry, not really a fan of the Floo. Aw, shite,” he added as he took in the state of his dress robes. The fine navy fabric was coated in ash and he had torn a hole near his knee. He pulled his wand out and bent over muttering cleaning charms and stitching charms. By the time he was finished, the rest of the class had already made it inside the main house. Severus could have joined them but he held back, lingering near one of the suits of armor until Greene had put his wand away. They set off on the gravel path in silence.

“I was raised by Muggles,” Greene explained after a moment. “Never used the Floo as a kid, not until I was twelve, and I got lost on my very first try. Went one grate too far. I expect it’s easier if you grow up using it.”

“Perhaps,” Severus said. “But that was my first trip.” He smirked.

Greene stopped walking. “Now that is just not fair,” he said. “Why does everything you have to do have to be so damn elegant?”

Severus could think of nothing to say to that. They climbed the stone stairs to the large front door of Malfoy Manor. The wind whipped his hair into his face and he tucked it behind his ear, wishing that he had thought to tie it back with a ribbon as Greene had done.

“I apologize. That was inappropriate.”

Severus shook his head but was saved from answering as the doors swung open. They walked through a grand foyer paneled in dark wood and down a hallway illuminated by golden torchlight until they came to another set of doors where a house-elf stood with a roll of parchment clutched in its long fingers. “Names, sirs?”

“Professor Harry Greene and Severus Snape,” Greene said. He was bent over the creature, searching, as if he expected to see something familiar about it, though after a moment he sighed and looked away as if his quest had been unsuccessful.

The elf examined his list and, after scratching off two names, announced into the crowded ballroom, “Professor Harry Greene and Severus Snape.”

“Shall we?” Greene asked and offered his arm. Severus took it and they walked through the doorway together.

* * *

Greene had been hauled off almost immediately. Slughorn wanted to introduce him to a few dozen of his former students and so, with an apologetic look, he had left Severus standing near one of the tables. He had taken his seat, sipping occasionally from a crystal water goblet, and watched as more and more people streamed into the ballroom.

A few minutes after the orchestra had begun playing, a dark-haired man a few years older than him approached his table.

“May I sit?”

“You may,” Severus replied. The man sat down in the chair next to him, refastening a gold cufflink on his sleeve. The cufflink had an elaborate pattern, sort of like a Celtic knot, but it was nothing that Severus recognized. The pattern repeated on the man’s large gold necklace and dangled from a chain fastened in his left ear. Severus blinked as the man turned toward him and the light caught all of the gold at once.

“Pericles Parkinson, the third,” the man said and held out his hand for Severus to shake. It was covered in large gold rings, each containing a different color gemstone. He fought not to sneer.

“Severus Snape,” he said and they shook hands.

“Pleasure.” He poured out two glasses of the amber liquid from the crystal decanter at the centre of the table, passed one to Severus, who set down his water to take it, and asked, “Are you still at Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm… Are you the young Slytherin that my friend Regulus Black told me about?”

“That depends on what he said about me,” he replied with a raised eyebrow.

The man laughed and clinked their glasses together. “Cheers. He spoke of you very highly indeed.”

“Oh.” He took a sip. It wasn’t whisky, or at least not the kind Malfoy had ordered for them that day at the Hog’s Head, but he didn’t know enough about alcohol to place it.

Music drifted across the empty dance floor. Regulus had explained that the first part of the night was reserved for the orchestra alone, but that he would be given a dance card and might be approached by single men who would like to put their names down in order to reserve dances.

“Well, I do hope you are the one he told me about,” Parkinson said in a low voice. His knee brushed Severus's leg gently under the table.

“Indeed?” Severus withdrew the parchment that he had been given at the start of the night and set it down softly between them. Parkinson smiled, drank the remaining liquid from his glass, and took the dance card.

“My first dance is promised,” Severus said. He tried to keep his voice smooth and uncaring as if he had danced with hundreds of men at balls. “But I am free for most of the remaining dances.”

Parkinson scribbled his name next to one of the dances listed on the card and slid it back across the white tablecloth.

“Very good, Severus. I look forward to our dance,” he said as he stood, then disappeared into the crowd watching the musicians.

Professor Greene collapsed into the open seat a minute later. “This is really fucking weird,” he said. He slumped deep into the chair. “S’cuse my language, but. Bloody hell, I never expected it to be like this.” He blinked at the nearly empty glass in his hand and refilled it with the liquor from the decanter. He paused, narrowed his eyes at Severus briefly, and then he shrugged and topped off his glass as well.

“Thank you.”

“They gave me this dance card and other men have written their names down on it. I told you I’m raised by Muggles? They would have died if they heard about this. But then, if that’s not weird enough, I’m also supposed to be asking girls to dance too. I don’t like girls. Well, not like that. They can be good mates.” His words were slightly jumbled as he rushed them out of his mouth. “This whole thing is bizarre.” He took another drink.

“I’m finding the evening quite peculiar, myself,” Severus admitted.

“Oh! That reminds me!” Greene grabbed Severus’s dance card and scrawled ‘Harry’ on the first line. “First dance, right? I’m supposed to dance with people I’m interested in, but only once or twice, otherwise I’m considered rude.” He rolled his eyes, his quill hesitating over his surname as if he’d forgotten what it was. He jotted down ‘Green’, leaving off the final 'e' in his haste, and then handed it to Severus with a half-smile.

“Indeed,” Severus said as he tucked it away again.

After topping off both of their glasses a second time, Greene said, “See you later!” Then he dashed off.

Lestrange arrived next, glancing furtively over his shoulder toward his father as he scratched his name in Severus’s dance card. A few other older men followed, much to Severus’s astonishment. He met Regulus’s eyes once and he smirked at him and winked, which only made Severus more uneasy as he wondered what the younger Slytherin had planned.

As more and more guests arrived, snow began to fall in the Malfoy’s ballroom and people started to move onto the dance floor. Severus brushed off a few flakes that had accumulated on his shoulder, stood, and downed the last of his drink. His head had gone slightly fuzzy.

“Snape,” Greene called as he broke away from the crowd. His face was flushed and the pink of his cheeks made his eyes appear greener. Some snow had accumulated on top of his hair and a ringlet had escaped its ribbon so that it fell over his scarred cheek.

“Professor,” he said and bowed.

Greene grasped his hand, his palm sweaty, and hauled him onto the dance floor. As they took their places amongst the crowd, Greene pulled him close, his hand settling at his waist. But when the music started up the others started in on a waltz but Greene hesitated.

“I believe you’re supposed to lead, Professor,” Severus said to him in a low voice.

“Oh. Right.” And with that, they were off.

Severus had just enough time to take in the feel of Greene’s lithe body against his, to luxuriate in the way that his thumb had again drifted to his hip bone, and to catch the smell of liquor on Greene’s breath, when the music stopped and Greene pulled away.

“See you!” Greene told him. He clapped him on the shoulder and then wandered off.

Another man took his place, the blonde man with deep laugh lines and a periwinkle blue dress robe. When the new song started, he steered them without hesitation across the dance floor and launched into a monologue about his business. He told Severus all about his latest venture—he had just opened a shop in Diagon Alley—and Severus managed to feign polite interest. The man bowed respectfully when they had finished and asked permission to owl Severus at school, which he readily granted, though he couldn’t quite keep a puzzled frown from drifting across his face at the question.

The next man was taller than him by several inches, with dark skin, full lips, and brilliantly white teeth. He asked several pointed questions about potions and Severus felt rather as though he were being questioned by a N.E.W.T. examiner, though he enjoyed it more than listening to someone droning on about business. Severus declined his offer of refreshment after they were done and then he too asked for Severus’s permission to owl him at Hogwarts. Severus watched him after they parted. He walked straight over and shook hands with Regulus Black. A bubble of unease expanded in his stomach.

He didn’t have time to dwell on his worry as the next dance had started, and Lestrange appeared. He clutched him tightly as they waltzed across the wooden dance floor, his mouth tight-lipped. He didn’t say a single word to him and hurried off as soon as the dance ended. Severus wondered why Lestrange had even asked him to dance at all.

The next man positively reeked of alcohol and had the audacity to attempt to grope Severus halfway through the dance. Severus clenched his jaw to prevent an obvious outburst, though he did derive no small amount of satisfaction when he stomped on the man’s left foot. He howled in pain and limped off the dance floor while Severus murmured a bland apology.

He took the momentary reprieve to get himself a drink of water—he hadn’t liked how light-headed the alcohol had made him—and he overheard Rodolphus’s brother Rabastan laughing with a few other Slytherin boys. He walked over to join them but stopped short as Rabastan sneered at him.

“Ah, if it isn’t Severus Snape: Slytherin’s favourite whore. I’ve seen you dance with quite a few men tonight, Snape. Tell me, have any of them bothered to touch your prick yet, or do you just let them use your mouth?” He and the others laughed. Even the mild-mannered Ravenclaw, Bill Garvey, snorted into his drink.

“Watch yourself, Lestrange,” Professor Greene said quietly, his voice just behind Severus.

Lestrange smirked. “What, are you going to take points, Professor? We’re not at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, no. But I have other means of inflicting punishment,” Greene said. He took a few steps toward Lestrange and he let his wand slide out of his arm holster and into his right hand. “Quite a few which aren’t permitted at Hogwarts.”

“It was just a joke, Professor.”

“Not a very funny one.”

Severus turned away, face toward the floor, a curtain of dark hair blocking it from view. He walked toward the opposite end of the room and sat at one of the tables in the corner.

According to his dance card, he had the remaining dances free. His feet ached from his too-small shoes and he glanced at his watch and found it was half-past eleven. He sipped some water and focused not on the dancers but the thousands of floating candles that drifted above their heads.

Soon, the dancers dispersed and the orchestra embarked on a slower song. Severus watched as Regulus and his father were escorted by a house-elf through a side door hidden behind a panel on the wall. Several other men, including Lucius Malfoy, Avery and his father, as well as the two Lestrange brothers and their father, followed shortly. He barely had time to be curious before Narcissa Malfoy, clad in an elegant aubergine-coloured gown, announced that the carriages had been outfitted and were waiting for the guests outside.

With his friends off with their influential fathers, Severus wondered if one of the men that he had danced with that night would accompany him on the midnight carriage ride, or if he were to ride with strangers. The crowd trickled out of the front door and there, along the drive, were fifty or more of the most extravagant carriages that Severus had ever seen.

They were horseless, as the ones at Hogwarts were, but they were undoubtedly finer. The wood was thicker, the doors seamlessly integrated, and had gold leaf decorating the side of them. Painted dark hunter green, they each had the Malfoy crest carved into the door. They had no top to them but Severus could see a flicker in the air surrounding them indicating there were strong warming charms. As he approached, the light caught on the gilding and the whole design flashed gold.

A low whistle sounded beside him. “I knew the Malfoys had money, but Merlin, this must’ve cost a fortune.” Greene walked up and opened the door of the carriage. He turned to Severus and said, “Coming, Snape?” He held out his hand for Snape to grasp to climb up into the carriage.

“I can manage myself,” he said shortly. He got in and scooted over to the far side, turning his back on his teacher.

“Sorry, Snape.” Greene climbed in next to him but kept a wide berth and did not try to encroach on his personal space. “I had a little too much to drink earlier and it took me a bit before I realized and cast a Sobriety Charm. I don’t know what I said, but I apologize if I offended you.”

A frigid wind whipped across his face and he pulled back into the warmth inside the carriage. He watched the stars twinkling in the midnight blue sky above him. There were many more of them visible here than there had been on Spinner’s End. After a moment, the carriage started up, pulled along as if by invisible horses. No one else had joined them.

“I don’t need you to fight for my honour,” he said. “I’m quite capable of defending myself.”

Another long moment passed, silent except for the faint tinkling of sleigh bells. “Of course. I apologize,” Greene said.

Severus looked at him then, searching his face for any hint of mockery, but he found none. He nodded once and turned back to the stars. He had never found much use for astronomy, but he had to admit that the sky could be beautiful.

“I’ve never seen so many thestrals in one place,” Greene said, conversationally, his tone light. “Not even Hogwarts has this many. I wonder if the Malfoys own them all, or if they’re rented out, or borrowed or something?”

“Thestrals?” Severus asked. He looked toward the front of his carriage with renewed interest.

Greene glanced at him sharply. “You can’t see them?”

“You can?” He raised his eyebrow.

“Yes.” His professor didn’t explain. “I thought for sure you would be able to see them. I guess sometimes I forget…” he trailed off and slid down in his seat, leaning his head against the back and closing his eyes.

“Forget what?” Severus asked. But Greene just shrugged. Severus looked out at the ground. Sure enough, he saw hoof prints near a small mud puddle. Greene reached out and laid one of his calloused hands across Severus’s pale fingers, his eyes still closed.

Severus shifted in his seat but didn’t move his hand. They rode in silence as a soft snowfall drifted down in fat flakes, melting midair as they encountered the warming charms surrounding the carriage.

Green eyes snapped open and his hand tightened on his. Severus startled. “Was what they said true? About no one…touching you?”

Severus yanked his hand back and leaned out over the side of the carriage. The winter air hit his face like an assault, cooling his blush. He made an effort to calm his breathing before he turned back toward his teacher.

“Forgive me, that was an extremely inappropriate question,” Greene said as he rubbed his eyes and straightened up in his seat.

Severus detected no malice from him, however, and so he swallowed once. “It’s true,” he admitted. His voice sounded clear and unconcerned, even as he felt the flush rise again on his face. He picked at the fraying sleeve of his dress robe. The black fabric had held the mending charm for a few hours but now the threads were coming loose again.

Fingers lighted on his chin, lifting it, and Severus’s stomach tightened itself into a knot. Greene’s face was inches from his and Severus stared at the scar that split his face in two. It was ugly and deep and as red as if it were newly-healed, though Greene had said it was several years old. His hand reached out to touch it before he could stop it and found the raised skin warm under his fingertips.

“What curse caused your scar?” he asked.

“The healers I saw were never sure. When it happened, it was in the middle of a battle and no one really had time to check into it. By the time things had calmed down, it was too late.” He shrugged without pulling away. “What’s done is done. I’ve found that I don’t mind it.”

“A battle? Was it on the continent?”

“There is more of a war going on in the here and now than you know,” Greene said.

“Oh,” he said.

The other man exhaled a soft puff of breath between his red lips, so close Severus could smell a faint smell of woodsmoke that emanated from his hair. His expression was unreadable but his eyes were full of longing.

“You look good tonight, Severus,” he said and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So... finally! ;)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to my beta zalil for all of the help, both in this chapter and with the rest of the story. I appreciate you so much!!
> 
> Smut scene ahead. Buckle up everyone. ;)

Harry just barely had time to register Severus’s lips against his own before he pulled back. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He took a shaky breath and tried to run his fingers through his hair but they caught on the blasted ribbon. He yanked it out and threw it on the floor of the carriage. “I can’t even blame alcohol,” he said under his breath. He stared at the discarded ribbon lying next to his boots, trying to calm his heartbeat and quash the bubble of panic expanding in his stomach.

He met Severus’s eyes. “I apologize.”

And then Severus leaned against him and he was the one being kissed. Lips slid over his, tentative and searching, and Harry let himself fall into the embrace. Severus’s fingers curled at the nape of his neck.

With more willpower than he knew he possessed, he grabbed Severus by the shoulders and pulled their mouths apart. He couldn’t bear to push him too far away, though, so he rested his cheek against Severus’s, the other man’s skin cool against his face.

“I can’t—we can’t—“ he murmured into the soft hair.

Severus made a disappointed noise low in the back of his throat and whispered a single: “Please.” Harry crushed their lips together again.

Severus’s tongue darted out to lick his lower lip setting a blaze of white-hot desire coursing through him. He deepened the kiss. Harry moved so that he had one knee on the seat and was leaning slightly over Severus. His mouth drifted to the corner of Severus’s jaw and he scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin there, eliciting a groan that shot straight to his prick.

“Greene,” Severus whispered.

Harry stilled with his face against Severus’s neck. “Don’t call me that,” he said. He leaned back and met Severus’s black eyes, brushing a lock of hair out of the way. “You have to call me Harry,” he said. “Never Greene. Just Harry.” Nodding, Severus reached for him.

Harry hesitated again, for just a moment. Whoever else this man was—had been, or would be—he was currently his student. In the back of his mind, the niggling pinprick of doubt blossomed into foreboding. And this wasn’t his Snape.

“Harry,” Severus murmured, his fingers twirling in the hair at the back of Harry’s neck and tugging him down. “Please, Harry.”

His mind went blank. All logic and reason fled. With effort, he mastered his desire only long enough to cast some obscuring charms and privacy wards over the carriage. If anyone were to look at their carriage it would appear as if they were in a fog; their bodies obscured by the haze, no one would be able to see what they were doing. He cast a quick Lumos so they could still see each other as the cloud circled their carriage and then he dropped his wand onto the seat.

When he recaptured Severus’s lips, he kissed him urgently. He propped himself up with his arms and braced himself against the seat, pushing one leg between Severus’s knees, meeting the hardness of Severus’s erection. He pressed firmly against it with his thigh and Severus muttered something incoherent and bucked, once, and then their bodies settled together. They kissed inquisitively, tasting each other, their tongues questing. Harry revelled in the low noises Severus made as their bodies slid together.

But his arms strained with the effort of holding his body at the right angle to maintain the kiss. He leaned back, panting, his eyes on Severus’s face: cheeks flushed, mouth open and panting, as he stared up at Harry with wide black eyes. Harry reached down and ran a finger over Severus’s jaw, his fingers trailing down his neck, and he undid one of the black buttons at Severus’s throat. His hand shook as he undid a second button.

“Can I?” Harry asked in a whisper, too late, as his finger lightly caressed the pale skin of the other man’s collarbone. Severus nodded. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Harry undid a dozen buttons, his fingers trembling as he revealed more and more of the pale skin. He stopped halfway down the black line of buttons and held his breath as he pushed the fabric out of the way to uncover Severus’s upper body. He laid his palm flat in the centre of Severus’s chest and felt the rapid thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat.

Neither of them said a word as Harry grazed lightly across the sparse hair of his chest. Harry leaned over and took one dark nipple in his mouth and as he flicked his tongue over it, Severus’s whole body arched toward him. He nipped it lightly and then sucked it into his mouth, his fingers finding and caressing the other nipple.

As Harry moved his mouth lower, Severus’s long fingers tangled themselves in Harry’s hair. He left a trail of wet kisses along the path of unblemished skin from his chest to his stomach and swirled his tongue once around Severus’s navel. He tasted slightly of salt and Harry licked his navel again, eliciting a deep groan, and then continued lower until he reached more buttons.

He nuzzled the soft skin of Severus’s stomach and then forced himself to look at Severus’s face. “Do you want—“ His voice came out hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Tell me to stop.”

Severus shook his head. “No.”

He held the black eyes with his own, the wand light shining a pale glow over his face. With a silent spell, Harry undid the remaining buttons and pushed the dress robes out of the way. He swallowed thickly and sent a sudden prayer of thanks to whoever invented Wizarding formal wear. Severus wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Fuck,” Harry said.

He allowed himself one moment to drink in the sight of Severus’s naked form: the pale skin shining in the moonlight, his sinewy thighs sprinkled with coarse dark hair. Severus’s hard cock strained toward Harry, the sight of it filling him with an intense longing. He pushed Severus’s legs apart and settled between them, the hard bottom of the carriage digging into his kneecaps.

Harry’s hands ran up the back of Severus’s calves as if of their own accord. He couldn’t stop touching him. “Are you sure— I mean, do you want me to—“ he hesitated as his fingers skimmed over Severus’s knees.

Severus reached down and grabbed Harry’s long hair, not pushing him, just twining his fingers in the dark strands. “Please, Harry,” he urged.

Harry leaned over and kissed the skin inside of Severus’s thigh and his eyes fluttered closed. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” Harry admitted against the soft skin.

“I don’t care,” Severus insisted.

“I’m your teacher.”

“I don’t care,” Severus said again. “I want this.”

And oh, how Harry wanted. But there was so much more to it than what Severus knew; after all, Severus had been his teacher, too. Even then, there had been so many layers between them. He wondered for a moment if he even knew this Severus. Harry tried to organize the swirl of thoughts. But as he licked and nipped his way up Severus’s thighs, he inhaled the soft musky smell, and with every inhale his mind clouded further. He found himself unable to piece the rest of it together.

Something else stuck in his mind. “And… No one’s ever? Never?” he asked in a whisper.

“Never,” Severus said. Harry nuzzled his face against Severus’s hip. Harry flattened his tongue and licked a wide stripe against Severus’s inner thigh toward his groin and Severus groaned and bucked his hips toward Harry’s mouth. 

Harry grabbed Severus’s hips and pressed him back down onto the bench. He wanted nothing more than to taste the thick, flushed cock. His mouth watered. He forced himself to ask, “Are you sure?” His voice was low and serious as he searched the other man’s face.

Severus’s eyes were glassy and a lovely flush had spread from his face to his cheek. “Oh, fuck. Yes,” he said and his eyelids fluttered closed.

Harry admired his lithe form beneath him once more before bending down and licking the lovely, jutting hip bone. He licked, nipped, and kissed his way around Severus’s groin, his right hand coming up to fondle Severus’s balls, and smiled into the other man’s skin at the gasp. His nose nuzzled the thick black hairs, immersed in the heady scent, and he grew lightheaded from the rush of blood to his own prick.

And then, just because he couldn’t wait any longer, he took the base of Severus’s cock in his right hand and licked from base to tip in one slow movement. Severus shuddered under him. His tongue collected a glistening drop of precome at the slit and then he swirled his tongue around the silky head. Severus’s hips bucked again and Harry strengthened his one-handed grip on his hip.

He slid his wet lips over the head a few times and Severus groaned, sending a shiver trickling up his back. And then he took as much of the length into his mouth as he could and settled into a steady rhythm of sliding, sucking, swirling. He could feel Severus’s fingertips digging into the base of his skull, but he wasn’t pushing so much as desperately gripping.

Underneath Harry’s robes, his own cock was hard and straining against the fabric of his robes and he pressed the heel of his hand against his erection. Harry hummed around the warm hardness in his mouth and Severus thrust deep into his throat. Harry’s fingers pinned him again for a moment and then over the bony hip bones that had so entranced him while they danced.

His eyes watered as he swallowed around Severus’s cock and Severus gave a guttural groan as he slipped deeper into Harry’s throat. Harry knew the other man wouldn’t last much longer. He kept swallowing him down, stretching his neck so that he could take more of him into his mouth, sucking and licking whenever he could. Severus’s fingers were deeply embedded in Harry’s hair, his hips rising ever so slightly off the seat.

When Harry hummed, Severus bucked and he muttered a half-coherent warning. Harry didn’t pull away and was rewarded a second later as he felt Severus’s cock pulse as he came down Harry’s throat. His hips jerked a few times and he gave a low moan.

It was too much for Harry. He grabbed at his cock through the fabric of his robes. His own orgasm ripped through him and he spilled wetness into his clothes like a schoolboy. When the pulsing stopped he allowed Severus’s cock to slide out of his mouth and he rocked back onto his heels, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Severus was still panting, his eyes closed, as he lay boneless.

Starting at the hem of Severus’s dress robes, Harry slowly began to slide the button back into its hole. He could have done it by magic, but he took his time pushing each black button through, one after the other, until he fastened the final one at Severus’s throat. He sat down next to Severus on the seat of the carriage and brushed away a lock of dark hair.

That seemed to bring Severus back to himself and he sat up abruptly, his eyes flying open. “I can—that is—do you want me to—“ he gestured absently at Harry’s lower half. He licked his red lips and Harry leaned over and placed a kiss against them briefly.

When he pulled back he said, with no small amount of embarrassment, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“No,” Severus said, not understanding. “I want to.” He grabbed at Harry’s knee but Harry placed his hand over the long fingers and squeezed them.

His face flushed as he admitted in a quiet voice, “It’s already over for me, too.”

Severus’s eyes widened and he glanced down at Harry’s still-clothed body. “You mean, you already…? While you were…?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his face still burning, and he was glad that it was dark.

“Oh.”

The next moment, the carriage halted with a bump, and they sprung apart.

In a hushed, nervous voice, Severus asked, “Did anyone see?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I obscured us.” He grabbed his wand and removed the hastily-cast wards. “No one saw.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Thank you,” Severus said.

“Don’t thank me,” he replied, his voice firm. He grabbed Severus’s hand and they twined their fingers together. Severus stared at their hands in silence while Harry studied his face. In the soft starlight, Harry thought he looked beautiful. His lips were still red and Harry longed to taste them again. He remembered the silky feel of his hair and wished he had thought to touch it more. “I loved every second of it.”

Without the fine lines that had creased his forehead in Harry’s time or the few grey hairs that had sprouted at his temples, he looked so young. The missing years flashed in front of him and Harry’s stomach sank. He squeezed Severus’s hand as if to anchor him to the present.

“Oh, Severus,” he murmured. He pulled him into a tight hug and Severus’s head came to rest on his shoulder.

Quietly, Severus asked, “Can we, again? I mean, I want—more.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he promised. His fingers stroked Severus’s hair once and then he relinquished him from the embrace. “We’ve got to get out now or someone will come looking for us,” he said.

He got down out of the carriage, stretching, allowing Severus a moment to collect himself. He could just make a figure striding toward them along the gravel driveway.

“There you are, Professor Greene!” Severus’s friend Avery exclaimed. “And Snape! Glad to see you two are, ah, getting along.” His eyes swept over the two of them.

“Good evening, Mr Avery,” Harry said. He fought the urge to flatten his hair—he could only imagine how wild it looked.

“Mr Malfoy requests you two to join him in his study. If you both would please follow me?” Harry nodded and Avery turned back toward the large oak front door of Malfoy Manor.

Oh, God, thought Harry. Am I really going to meet Voldemort after having sucked off Severus Snape in the back of a carriage?

* * *

Lucius Malfoy’s study was as grand as the rest of his house. Spacious, with a large wooden desk and several bookshelves on the right-hand side, and a sitting area on the left where several chairs were clustered around a small coffee table in front of the fireplace. The fire crackled as Harry searched the faces of the men sitting there for Voldemort. While he knew how Tom Riddle had looked, and he knew how Voldemort had looked after his resurrection, he had no idea how he had looked in the year 1977.

Lucius Malfoy’s pale hair shone in the low light of the room. The other three men looked neither inhuman or like Tom Riddle, and he exhaled a sigh of relief. He straightened his shoulders.

“Thank you so much for the invitation, Mr Malfoy,” Harry said and forced himself to meet the silvery eyes. “I have had quite an enjoyable evening.”

“Indeed? I’m glad of it,” Malfoy said. “Avery, if you would please show Snape back to the library. I’m sure you and your schoolmates have much to discuss.” A clear dismissal. Harry longed to reach for Snape’s arm, to hold onto the steadying weight of another human, but he clenched his hand into a ball and managed to resist. He caught Severus’s eyes, gave a quick nod to reassure him and turned back to Malfoy.

“Yes, sir,” Avery said. He grabbed Severus’s elbow and pulled him from the room.

“Please, take a seat.” Malfoy gestured to an empty leather chair.

As Harry walked over, he tried to discern the other three men’s identities. One man, who held his mouth in the same angle of sneer as the two Lestrange boys, must be Lestrange Sr., while the other bore a certain resemblance to Avery, though Harry wasn’t sure. But the third one looked completely unfamiliar, with dark black skin that looked almost blue in the shadows.

“Does Professor Slughorn know he’s missing the party?” Harry asked as he slid into the seat nearest to the fire.

“Horace? Oh, no, that cockroach scuttles back into the dark corners of obscurity whenever someone suggests he might have to get his hands dirty.” Malfoy gave him an appraising look. “I do hope you’re not made of the same cloth, Greene.”

“Do I look like someone afraid to get involved?” He arched his eyebrow and smirked, stretching his scar.

“No, you do not.” Malfoy held his gaze for another moment and then said, “Allow me to introduce my two companions whose sons you teach at Hogwarts: this is Reginald Lestrange and Aloysius Avery.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Harry lied.

“And this is a good friend who attended school with me, Woodward Pratchett, whose name you might recognize from the papers. He works for the Ministry in the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

Pratchett leaned forward to shake Harry’s hand. His palm was warm and dry and he gripped Harry’s fingers firmly before releasing them.

“Pleasure,” Pratchett murmured as his dark brown eyes swept over Harry’s face and scar curiously.

Harry never volunteered information about his scar. He held his chin up under Pratchett’s scrutiny and then, once the other man glanced away, turned back to Malfoy.

“So what do I owe this private meeting? I am honoured, of course, but I’m sure Slughorn will be wondering what is keeping me from my duties as a chaperone.”

Malfoy didn’t answer. Instead, he snapped his fingers in the air and a house-elf appeared. “Tea, servant,” he ordered and the house-elf vanished again, appearing a moment later the elf with cups of tea and passed them out to each of the men in turn.

After a long stretch of silence, while Harry sipped his tea, Lestrange Sr. cleared his throat. “We have heard intriguing things about you from our sons, Professor. We simply wanted a meeting with their newest teacher and perhaps a chance to learn more about you.”

“Like my blood status and attitude toward dark magic?” Harry asked innocently. Pratchett’s hand shook and spilled a few drops of tea into his lap.

Malfoy scoffed. “I did hear it mentioned that you lacked proper decorum, Greene. Those reports do appear to be accurate.”

Shrugging, Harry said, “I’m not one to beat around the bush, Malfoy. I’ve heard of this Dark Lord of yours. I know enough about him, and you, to be able to guess at the questions you wanted to ask.” He drained his tea and set the cup down on the table with a clack.

“For your information, my mother was Muggle-born and my father was a pure-blood, but I never knew either of them as they died when I was a baby. I was raised by my Muggle relatives and I hated them almost as much as they hated me. I’ve seen Dark Magic,” he said with a gesture to his scar. “I’m not afraid of it.” All true, though the implications were not. He didn’t clarify that he had only hated those particular Muggles nor did he clarify that he still hated Dark Magic even if he had lost his fear of it.

“No one I have talked to has heard so much of a whisper of your name. And yet you speak like one native-born.”

“I’m sure you have a vast network; but no, I have been in hiding for years.” He looked at each of the men in turn. “I don’t particularly care to discuss my past.”

“Then perhaps you are more interested in discussing your future?” The hairs on Harry’s neck prickled. He turned toward the voice of the and knew at once that it belonged to Lord Voldemort.

The man in the doorway appeared more human than he had the last time Harry had seen him, but he was still a far cry from the handsome boy Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts. The other men sprung from their chairs at once to stand to greet him. Then they bowed deeply, their eyes downcast.

Harry stood up slowly and inclined his head in a brief nod. “Lord Voldemort.”

“Professor Harry Greene. I’m told that is your name, or at least that is what you call yourself.” He sneered.

Their eyes met across the room and Harry had to fight to quell the bile that rose in the back of his throat. Voldemort’s eyes were reddish, his skin waxy, and something about the way he moved made him hardly appear human. If Harry hadn’t known how far from human Voldemort would venture, he would be disgusted by the man in front of him. But this Voldemort was just a promise.

Voldemort took two steps toward Harry, his head tilting as he examined him. Harry held his gaze—he had been preparing for this moment—as Voldemort raised his wand, said “Legilimency” in an even tone, and dove into his mind. He threw his mental shields of Occlumency up, barring his mind against the intrusion as he had been taught, but Voldemort continued the onslaught.

Harry allowed a memory to break free and watched a devilish dog chasing him up a tree as his cousin sniggered, “Look at Harry! Scared of a puppy!”

He knew he would have to pretend to put up a better fight if he wanted Voldemort’s respect, so he strengthened his mental barriers again. Voldemort took another step closer and he allowed another memory to surface.

This time, the memory of spending hours and hours practicing wandless magic in the silence of the cottage floated to the forefront of his mind. He could see himself, stretched out and exhausted on the floor in front of the dwindling fire, as he ordered the parchment to levitate with a whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa!” He watched as he fell on the floor, sobbing, as the paper refused to move. He then erected his mental shields once more.

Another step and Voldemort was an arm’s length away. Images flew from his mind and it was only because he had prepared these memories before, with Hermione in the cottage so long ago, that he was able to resist the careful probing. He saw his cupboard under the stairs, his cousin punching him in the face, and then finally he allowed the memory to slip out of the feeling of power as he held his wand in his hand and cast Dark Magic for the first time.

Voldemort’s cold fingers grasped his cheek as he tilted his face up so they were inches apart as he continued to stare into his eyes. The onslaught of magic as it thrust into his mind nearly overwhelmed him. Harry was holding onto his Occlumency by a thread. He needed to show something to Voldemort so that he thought he had won—before his shields truly broke and he discovered Harry’s identity.

In desperation, Harry flung the precious memory from earlier in the night: how Severus’s cock had felt as it slipped between his wet lips, the moans that Severus had made when he came, and the wetness that had flooded his own pants. He shared with Voldemort his guilt he felt over his position as Severus’s teacher as it washed over him.

Voldemort released his face with a smirk. “Please sit, my friends,” he said.

The Death Eaters sat hesitatingly as if they expected to have to jump back up again in a moment. Harry made a show of collapsing into the chair, though perhaps not quite all of it was acting. He felt empty and nauseous and wished more than anything this moment had come a different way.

Voldemort walked through the cluster of chairs until he stood in front of the fireplace. He laid one hand on the mantelpiece, his fingers drifting over to the antique brass clock at the centre. He picked it up and examined it for a moment as his followers sat in tense silence.

“So, what are your plans, Professor Greene? Do you intend to stay at Hogwarts?” He set the clock back down and turned to Harry. “To continue in the noble instruction of children?” His eyes danced with dark glee. Of course, both he and Voldemort knew the Dark Lord had cursed the position. He couldn’t return next year even if he wanted to continue teaching.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ve had my fill of teaching. There are certain students that I enjoy teaching more than others, but I believe it is time to move on to another profession.”

“Ah yes, you do have a special bond with your students,” Voldemort said. A mirthless smile tugged at the corner of his waxy lips.

Harry steepled his fingers together and rested his elbows on the chair. “As I told Malfoy, I’m not one for beating around the bush. Right now, I’ve earned a modicum of trust from Dumbledore, and I do not want to do anything to jeopardize that. I’ve fought before—both light and dark—and I would like nothing more than to retire, without enemies, to the countryside.”

“Very pastoral,” Voldemort said with a sneer. “But the war against Dark Magic began before you were born. If you desire to continue your petty dabbling, you have made Dumbledore your enemy already. I tell you now that my aim is yours: to restore wizards to their rightful place. Light and Dark Magics are only described thusly by those too foolish to see their uses.”

Harry smiled. “I had someone tell me, once: ‘There is no good or evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it.’”

This time, Voldemort truly did smile. Cold and without joy but a smile all the same. “Very wise. And how much power do you seek, Harry?”

“Enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Smut and then having your mind assaulted by an evil Dark Lord, what's better? Haha. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to my beta, zalil, for all of the help with this chapter!

The cold winter air seeped through the wood paneled walls of the library and Severus’s breath fogged out in front of him. The windows, draped with thick velvet curtains, blocked out even the moonlight. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes, wishing he had worn more layers.

Though fire crackled in the hearth at the far end of the library, it did little to warm the room. Rodolphus Lestrange paced in front of it, a leather-bound book open in one hand. He wore his typical frown, the one that appeared on his face whenever he delved into a particularly complicated subject. His brother Rabastan sat nearby, draped over a velvet settee with his arm thrown over his eyes.

The other seventh-year Slytherins who had been in attendance at the ball sat clustered at a small circular table a few metres away.

“Should I deal you in, Avery? Snape?” Rosier asked as he dealt out a couple of cards to Mulciber and Wilkes.

“Sure,” said Avery. He walked over to the table and slid into his seat with easy assurance. Severus shrugged and followed.

Severus missed little about the Muggle world, and Merlin knew Spinner’s End was never well-lit and cheery, but the library could’ve done with some electric lights. There were perhaps only a dozen torches in the whole room, and the dark wood covering everything made it seem even darker.

“Have you talked to him yet?” Rosier asked Avery in a hushed voice after they had pulled up their chairs. “He spoke with both the Lestranges a few minutes ago, but they haven’t said a word about it. Rodolphus jumped right into his book and, well, you know Rabastan.”

“No,” Avery replied. He frowned at Severus. “Snape was late coming out of the carriages and they sent me to fetch him.”

Severus grabbed the cards Rosier slid toward him across the smooth table, but his eyes couldn’t focus enough to read them. Sometime over the past several minutes, a headache had started throbbing behind his left eye.

Avery continued. “My father said to wait patiently and that they would join us soon.”

His brain, foggy as if just awoken from a very peculiar dream, at last, grasped at the thread of conversation. “The Dark Lord is here?” he asked.

His fellow Slytherins shared glances amongst themselves as if they were trying to determine who would answer.

“Yes,” Avery said. “He spoke to the Lestranges and now he’s speaking with their father, my father, and a few others. And Professor Greene. That’s why I was sent to fetch him.”

Severus tapped his cards on the table to straighten them. “I see,” he said and fell silent.

They played without speaking for several minutes, the only sounds came from the shuffling of the cards. His hands grew numb with cold and he longed to go stand by the fire but didn’t dare approach the still-pacing Lestrange, who guarded that main source of heat like a Sphynx, and who would no doubt ask him uncomfortable riddles he wouldn’t be able to answer.

He pushed Lestrange—and his off-and-on again way of pursuing him—out of his mind as the scrape of chairs echoed through the library. His fellow Slytherins stood, all turning toward the sound of low voices coming from the hall. Severus, his back to the door, put down his playing cards without regret, as he had been losing, and joined the others into a deep bow.

His skin prickled with magic as a dark-haired man swept into the room, his black cloak swirling behind him as he walked to the broad desk on the far end of the room, away from the fire. In one elegant motion, he positioned himself carefully on the leather wingback chair. Malfoy, after he came to stand at the man’s left side, shifted from one foot to the other.

No ordinary man would have dared to sit at Malfoy’s desk without express permission. But of course, the Dark Lord was no ordinary man.

“Gather closer, my dear friends,” the Dark Lord said, his deep voice smooth and coaxing. “Come here, young men, so I may see you better.”

The Lestranges went to him eagerly, taking their place in front of the desk. Their father stood behind them with his hand resting on Rodolphus’s shoulder. Next to Rabastan, Avery stood with his father just at his heels. Mulciber and Rosier lined up next to them to complete a row.

Severus hesitated for just a moment. Then, a faint brush of a hand against his back, gone before he could be sure of its presence, made him turn sharply to his left side and his eyes met Harry’s. His professor, eyes hard as jade, nodded. His face shone with a faint sheen of sweat but his hand brushed against his back once more, pushing him gently, urging him to join the others. Severus went, Harry following close behind, and stood at the corner of the desk.

“The young Lestranges and I have already become acquainted,” the Dark Lord said. Their grins, though set in entirely different features, were twins of pleasure.

The Dark Lord continued, “And I was most interested in meeting you, young Avery. Your father once counted amongst my closest friends and I have anticipated the moment that he would join me for many years. I am glad that you will be close to follow.”

“Yes, my lord,” Avery said, his face drawn and greyish. Severus couldn’t recall such a seriousness from his friend before and his drawn face seemed quite alien.

The Dark Lord appraised Mulciber and Rosier. “And my old friends have spoken for you two as well: in good personal standing amongst your schoolmates in Slytherin, and both from good families. I am always eager to welcome students with promising ambition into my ranks. That is, if they share my goals. I’m told you do and you will make fine additions.” Rosier’s chest puffed out proudly and Mulciber inclined his head.

Severus stiffened as the Dark Lord turned to him, a quiver of fear icing up his spine. “And Severus Snape, another Slytherin whose surname I did not recognize.” His strange, reddish-tinged eyes locked onto Severus’s face.

The adult Lestrange cleared his throat and Severus turned with relief, away from those eyes of the Dark Lord. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the Dark Lord’s continued appraisal. Severus stood up straighter, his hands clenched in fists at his side, and tilted his chin expectantly at Lestrange senior.

He spoke directly to Severus. “I went to school with your mother, Mr Snape. She was a few years behind us—me—in school and, of course, a fellow Slytherin.” He lowered his voice as if he were expressing condolences over the death of a loved one. “Naturally, we were all very disappointed to hear about certain…choices that she made.” He straightened up and continued. “Nevertheless, she was an excellent student in her day, a powerful witch, and the Prince line honourable.” He looked at his son, Rodolphus, and continued, “And my son has spoken most highly of you, Mr Snape.” Rabastan glowered but said nothing.

“Thank you, sir,” Severus replied with a small dip of his head, though the comment rankled him. He hated having to discuss why his mother, a good pureblood according to anyone who had known her, had married Tobias Snape. Severus could not even say that the Muggle had made her happy, nor that he loved her.

“And quite a powerful wizard she created if the rumours are true,” the Dark Lord said. “With a penchant for Dark Magic, I’m told? You’ve even dabbled in crafting original Dark spells?”

Severus stared at the pile of leather-bound books on the desk as he considered his reply. “Yes, I have experimented with Dark Magic.” He forced himself not to glance at his Defence teacher to discover his reaction. “And, yes, I have created a few spells. Some Dark, some not.”

“As have we all—your professor included,” the Dark Lord replied. Severus’s head snapped up. “Oh, yes, you will be surprised what I can discover with Legilimency.” He grinned, which on him was more of a feral baring of teeth than a smile.

Severus heard Harry’s sharp exhale of breath behind him.

“Now Severus, you cannot help the seed from which you sprung. You have some worthy blood, from your mother, and it will be enough for me, if you prove yourself valuable as my ally.”

Severus nodded. “Yes, my lord,” he said, pleased by how smooth his voice sounded.

“Excellent. Now, I believe your dear Professor Greene is supposed to be escorting you back to Hogwarts. Please allow him to do so—and see that you both keep out of mischief.” Then he laughed, high and cold. Harry tensed behind him.

Severus bent into a stiff bow. Harry inclined his head toward the Dark Lord, though his eyes never left his face. And then Harry’s warm fingers snaked themselves around his wrist and tugged him out of the room, down the hallway, through the front doors, and out onto the gravel driveway. His fingers were so tight around his wrist, and icy cold.

Once they were almost to the carriage house, he wrenched his arm out of his professor’s grasp. Harry stopped and turned, his dark hair a tangled mess around his pallid face.

Severus rubbed at his wrist. “What on Earth are you doing?” he asked. “That hurt.”

As Harry pressed his fingers against where the scar began on his forehead, Harry sighed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just… I just need to get away.” His green eyes shone in the starlight.

Though Severus didn’t understand, he said, “Fine. But you need not drag me like a leashed dog.” Harry cringed and nodded, and then they set off down the drive side by side.

When they arrived in front of the fire, Harry glanced at his watch and said, “We’d best Floo to my quarters. It’s quite late and I doubt Slughorn is still awake.” He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace and said, “Professor Harry Greene’s rooms at Hogwarts.”

Severus stared at the fire for a moment as excitement alighted in his stomach. Harry’s personal quarters? All thoughts of the Dark Lord and Harry’s distress fled as he remembered the warmth of his mouth.

He didn’t dare hope it would continue. Or did he?

A snort from one of the horse stalls startled him into action, and he followed his professor through the fire. As he stepped out onto the frayed rug in front of the fireplace, he nearly trod on Harry’s back. “You are spectacularly bad at that,” he remarked dryly.

Harry stood up and brushed himself off. “Fuck, I hate the Floo.” He reached up and began loosening his collar. Severus’s hand, which had begun to dust off his own sleeve, froze midair. His heartbeat picked up, traitorously hopeful.

But Harry stopped after just one button. He said, “Sit down if you want. You can move stuff out of the way.”

Harry gestured vaguely to the small sofa, which had no less than five different piles of parchments on it. “Do you want some tea?” he asked.

“If you’ve got it,” Severus replied in what he hoped was an unconcerned tone. He frowned at a stack of papers, picked it up, and tried to find a vacant place to put it.

But there were stacks everywhere. All over the floor, there were small piles of what Severus assumed were student essays. The desk was a disgrace, covered by crumpled balls of parchment, dry inkwells, and what he thought might have been a plate nicked from the Great Hall. He raised his eyebrows and settled on stacking the pile next to another by a door.

He sat on the couch, his back straight and every muscle tensed, and stared at the fire. He cleared his mind, pushing thoughts of the Dark Lord away. He focused on the flames until their patterns and the way they danced, until that was the only thing in his mind, and then he pushed that away too. He closed his eyes and found stillness as he emptied his mind even of the fire.

“Are you intentionally Occluding?” Harry asked. He had two cups of tea in his hands and was staring at him with a peculiar look.

“What?”

“You know, Occlumency,” Harry said and passed him a warm cup of tea, which Severus took. “Here.”

“No, I’ve never practiced it,” he said.

Harry smirked at him. “Of course you’d stumble on it naturally,” he said exasperatedly. “You should practice in earnest. I think there are a few books on it in the library. I bet you’ll be good at it.”

“I’ll do some research,” Severus said.

Harry indicated the general disaster in his quarters with a wave of his hand. “Sorry about that.” He took a seat next to Severus, close enough for their shoulders to brush together.

Severus took a sip of his tea, and warm happiness bubbled in his chest. Harry had remembered how he took it: milk but no sugar.

After they sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, Severus cleared his throat and said, “Your organizational methods are deplorable.”

Harry’s green eyes flashed and Severus thought perhaps he had offended him, but instead, he burst out into laughter. He had to put his teacup down, and Severus frowned as he set it on an open book on the coffee table. But his loud laughter warmed the small room and Severus was glad to be the cause. “Merlin, Snape, you don’t know how right you are.”

The happiness he had felt turned to ice. He gripped the teacup tightly in his hands and his smile vanished. “Yes, Greene, your entire quarters are a mess. It’s embarrassing,” his tone more biting; forceful.

Harry’s laughter stopped, and he looked at Severus with a shattered expression. His fingertips brushed against Severus’s knee. “I’m sorry. I—I’m not very good at this—I don’t know what to do about, well, everything.” A deep breath and then, “Can I call you Severus?”

A long pause before he answered. He should say no.

“I suppose,” he said instead and took another sip of tea. He ignored Harry’s hand lightly resting on his knee.

“I think we should talk,” Harry said solemnly, and Severus snorted into his cup.

“Oh, do you?”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight,” Harry added quickly. “I just don’t know how to leave things with you, well, after everything.”

“To be honest, I don’t believe I will sleep tonight anyway,” he admitted.

“What about—do you have to get back to the dormitory? Will anyone be suspicious? Everyone else would have returned with Slughorn.”

“None of my fellow year mates are without a home for the Christmas holidays,” he said, and his voice came out more bitter than he intended. “The Lestranges stayed because their parents were on holiday until tonight. So no, there is no one who will miss my presence.”

Harry sighed with relief. “I—I’m sorry for what happened in the carriage.”

“I’m not,” Severus said, and his eyes met Harry’s again.

Harry gave another little sigh, just a puff of air, and Severus wished he could bottle it to keep for always.

“I’m not fine,” Harry admitted and then added hastily at the expression on Severus’s face, “Not because of what happened with us. I can’t bring myself to regret that, though I am sorry for it. I know it is something I shouldn’t have done.”

Severus set his teacup down next to Harry’s. “I’m not sorry for it and I don’t regret it either.”

“But perhaps you will tomorrow.”

“No,” he insisted. His hand reached toward Harry’s and squeezed his fingers. “No,” he said again, and then his mouth engulfed Harry’s in a kiss.

Harry’s tongue was demanding, pushing through his lips and sliding against his own tongue once it broke through. Severus could smell the faint scent of smoke from the fire still clinging to his hair, and he inhaled deeply through his nose. Wood and ash mixed with Harry’s scent. Severus took Harry’s lower lip in between his teeth. He flicked his tongue across it and Harry moaned, low and guttural, and Severus’s cock jerked in response.

But Harry pulled away. “Oh, God, Severus. I can’t even tell you how much I want you.” He took a deep shuddering breath. “But not tonight.” He held up a hand to stave off his protest. “No, listen. We’ve both had a long night already. We’ve got to get some sleep at some point and it’s already quite late.”

Severus watched as his finger, bolder than the rest of him, traced against Harry’s jawline. “But tomorrow?”

“Come tomorrow night. After curfew.” He stood abruptly. Severus didn’t miss how he adjusted a bulge under his robes as he walked across the room. He stood and followed, his blood thrumming through his veins. A distant part of him acknowledged his tiredness.

“Goodnight, Harry,” he said and leant over to give him a quick kiss.

Harry’s eyes were still closed when he pulled back and he took a deep breath before he asked, “Can you cast a disillusionment charm on yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Do that tomorrow night too.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight, Severus.”

* * *

A day had never passed slower.

Had Severus not been an extremely rational person, he would have assumed that he had imagined the events of the night before. While meeting the Dark Lord had been a goal of his for many years, the reality of it had still paled in comparison with the carriage ride with Harry.

A little thrill went through him every time he thought of Harry by his first name.

He had spent the day in reminiscence. His hand could still feel Harry’s curls, his lips could still feel his urgent kisses, and his cock remembered the wet warmth.

As the sky finally darkened outside, he left the library for a hasty dinner and then spent a few hours of pacing in the common room. He panicked when it occurred to him to take a shower.

When he cast the charm on himself and left, invisible, through the portrait hole, his hair was still wet. He rapped his knuckles on the door and it swung open immediately as if Harry had been waiting just behind it.

“Hello,” Severus said, still invisible.

“Come in,” Harry said and stepped aside.

Severus cast the counter charm after the door clicked shut behind him. He had worn a casual robe, a little threadbare but much preferable over wearing a school robe, which he feared might have the potential to put Harry off.

“Would you like some tea?” Harry asked. “I cleaned a bit so there’s actually proper places for us to sit now.”

Severus raised his eyebrow. “It appears you’ve done less of what could be considered ‘cleaning’ and something more along the lines of ‘shifting around of the piles.’”

A lesser person would have been offended, but Harry just chuckled. “Oh, come here,” he said and pulled Severus toward him.

Their kiss was every bit as delicious as the first, and the tension Severus had held in him all day melted. As Harry’s arms reached out and enfolded him, he sank into the embrace and his hands skimmed up Harry’s sides and came to rest on his hips. He could feel Harry’s hard, muscular form under his fingers and he deepened the kiss and pulled their hips closer.

Harry shifted so their hips were pressed against each other and Severus gave a small thrust as he sought contact. His cock ached, desperate for friction, and when Harry thrust back against him, he groaned.

He had dreamed about Harry’s cock all day. Last night hadn’t been fair.

Now, Severus wanted.

Throughout the day, his mind had tortured him with memories. Not just of the carriage ride, or the goodnight kiss from the night before, but also of all the times he had seen Harry half-clothed. His mind supplied an image of Harry’s stomach, his abs glistening with water from the lake, and his hands flew to the buttons securing Harry’s robes.

He would not let this encounter pass without seeing him.

“Stop,” Harry said, panting. He pulled back and fear seized Severus. “Not here. Come, this way.” Harry laced their fingers together and led him through the bedroom. “Is this okay?” he asked awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his four-poster bed.

“Yes,” Severus answered. “But I want to see you.”

Harry’s surety returned as he smirked and began to undo his buttons. Severus clenched his fists at his side, his hands eager to touch, as he willed himself to be patient.

After Harry shrugged off his robes, his hands deftly undid his belt and he stepped out of his trousers. Severus could see the outline of Harry’s erection under his boxes. Gooseflesh rose on his back as Harry stood there, smiling, now not one bit nervous. Though, Severus thought, if I looked like that, I wouldn’t be nervous either.

While Harry would never be a large man, his muscles were well-defined. They rippled under his golden-brown skin as he tossed his belt aside to the growing pile of clothes in the corner. The smile he gave Severus poured warmth into him. His face was quite handsome despite his scar, which was not alone in marking Harry’s body.

Severus’s fingers itched to trace the other scars that covered his torso, his muscular arms, and legs. Harry’s long hair fell past his shoulders, dark and curly, and his chest had a patch of dark hair as well and a dark line trailed from his navel under his boxers. He had more body hair than Severus did and he worried, for a moment, how he would look in comparison.

“So? What do you think?” Harry grinned and gave him a roguish wink.

Severus tapped a finger on his lip, pretending to consider. “Those are a deplorable colour. Scarlet? Really?” he asked and raised his eyebrows.

Harry’s fingers slipped under the waistband. “Well, I could just take them off.”

Severus’s mouth was too dry to speak, but Harry must have read the look of longing on his face. Harry’s grin brimmed over with confidence as he pulled them off. He stood a few metres away, his cock flushed and hard, and Severus inhaled sharply.

“Merlin,” he murmured. He moved toward Harry, intending to sink to his knees and take the beautiful length of him into his mouth.

“No. I want to see you too,” Harry said, his chin set at a stubborn angle.

“Okay.” His hands, surprisingly steady, rose to his buttons, and he started undoing them. When he pulled off his robes, he draped them neatly on the wooden chair. He hadn’t bothered to wear anything underneath—Harry had seemed to enjoy that last night—but he wished, for a moment, that he had. He felt more than naked under Harry’s scrutiny: laid bare, as if he were naked down to his very soul.

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered. His hand came up to palm his own cock absently as he took in Severus’s naked form. “Gorgeous. Look at you.” He stroked himself slowly, his green eyes wide. “Come here,” he said.

As Harry sat down on the bed, his eyes remained focused on Severus. He could feel the heat rising in his face at the scrutiny, but he was so eager he did not let the embarrassment stop him. His cock remembered Harry’s mouth and it twitched hopefully.

“Sit with me,” Harry said and pulled him into his lap.

It was awkward at first and they couldn’t quite figure out where their legs should go, but the delicious feeling of skin-on-skin more than made up for it.

Finally, Harry pulled them both back all the way onto the bed, and they lay with their heads on the pillows, with the entire length of their bodies pressed against each other.

Brushing his fingers across Severus’s chest, Harry said, “I don’t know if this is the time to say it, but I don’t have a lot of experience in this area.”

“You managed fine last night,” he said and gasped as Harry’s fingers pinched his nipple.

“I didn’t say I didn’t have any experience, just not much. A few hasty blowjobs from Muggles in the village near where I was hiding out, and that’s it. And I usually Obliviated them after that.” He winced as if expecting Severus to scold him, but Severusjust shrugged and leaned over to kiss him.

“I have already admitted to my own areas of inexperience.” His hand moved surely until he grabbed Harry’s cock, stroking it slowly, enjoying the feel of the smooth skin against his hand. “But I’m pretty good at this part. If you’ll permit me?” He licked his lips.

The question hung in the air for just a moment, anticipation coursing through him as he slowly stroked up and down the shaft.

“Oh, please,” Harry said.

In a flash, Severus moved so that he was on top of Harry, their skin sliding together, their erections meeting with a jolt. He took Harry’s mouth and kissed him, their mouths mashing together. His left hand drifted up to stroke Harry’s abs and then to pinch one of his nipples in revenge.

He broke away from the kiss and, after brushing a ringlet out of the way, put his mouth to the other man’s neck. He licked and sucked and bit down hard, forgetting himself, and Harry moaned. “God, Severus, that’s so good.” Severus hummed against his neck, his fingers trailing down Harry’s body, stroking muscles, a light fingertip brushing across the white scars. Every bit of him was warm. He rubbed his fingers through his chest hair and bent down to lick Harry’s collarbone.

“Please,” Harry said, his hands resting on Severus’s shoulders.

Severus smiled against the golden skin. “You are impatient.”

He kissed down Harry’s body: delicate, fleeting things. He tasted the salt of sweat with every small lick, and inhaled the smell of sweat and musk that gathered in Harry’s groin. A moment to admire the sight of his cock up close, hard and needy, and then he sucked as much as he could into his mouth.

Harry groaned and thrust. His hands gripped the blanket, crumpling it, as Severus sucked and slid his mouth off a little, his tongue flicking out to tease him. When Severus glanced at him, his eyes were screwed tight. Severus brought up his hand and wrapped it around the shaft, sliding slowly up and down. He shifted his position, taking more of Harry’s cock into his mouth, feeling the head against the back of his throat.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he tried to relax. He had been working on this particular skill but he had not yet attempted it. At Harry’s next jutting of his hips, he let Harry’s cock slide deep into his throat. He swallowed the whole thing until his face was pressed against Harry’s skin, his throat full.

“Ah—I’m going to—” Harry said and just before he came down Severus’s throat.

Severus swallowed until Harry’s prick gave one last enthusiastic twitch, then he pulled back. He had never seen anything more appealing than Harry’s skin, glistening with sweat, his neck and chest flushed with the aftermath of desire.

“Oh my God,” Harry said after a minute. “Oh, shit, that was so fast.” He sat up straight in bed and looked at Severus. “I’m so sorry.”

Severus shrugged. “It’s flattering, in a way,” he admitted. Harry had clearly enjoyed it.

Harry put his face in his palms. “Oh my God,” he said again.

When he met Severus’s gaze again, he looked so sorrowful that Severus had to smirk. “Though I am rather beginning to doubt your stamina. Last night I didn’t even touch you, and now tonight… Well.” He raised a single eyebrow.

“Oh, you are a bastard, aren’t you?” Harry said, but his face broke out into a smile. “Come here, then.”

He directed Severus to straddle his chest, and he did, his limbs long and awkward, his nakedness exposed in the bright light of the room. Harry reached for another pillow and put it behind his head so that his mouth was almost even with Severus’s cock. It bobbed hopefully and Harry licked his lips. He kissed the tip.

Severus stared without blinking as the head of his cock slid over Harry’s moist, red lips. His tongue poked out for a moment, long enough to collect the liquid leaking out through the slit. Severus pushed against his lips, his hand on the base to direct it. “Please,” he said.

“Yes,” Harry replied and opened his mouth.

As Severus slid inside, he thought he would never tire of the warm, wet heat, and he tilted his head back and closed his eyes to focus. He knew what it felt like to give a blowjob, and had always quite liked that by itself. But, as Harry’s tongue slid against the bottom of his cock, he learned for himself why it had always made the other boys come undone. He groaned. He would not last too long either.

Harry’s right hand replaced his around his shaft, stroking earnestly in time with his mouth. The fingers on his left hand, which until that point had firmly gripped Severus’s thigh, meandered across his arse. He felt one finger dip in between and his whole body shuddered with pleasure. He muttered a warning that Harry did not heed, and then he came.

A hazy blackness clouded his mind. When he recovered, he was lying next to Harry, his head against the pillow, Harry’s hand drawing a light pattern over his chest as he weaved in and out through the sparse hairs. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he attempted to calm his breathing, but when Harry’s eyes met his, he stopped breathing entirely.

“Well, I’ve heard stamina increases with time,” Harry said with a small smile. “Perhaps we’ll just have to keep practicing?” Harry waved his hand and they were under the blankets, warmed from their mutual satisfaction. Severus’s eyes drifted closed as Harry tugged him closer.

“Quite a bit of practice,” Severus said.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A profound thank you to my lovely betas zalil and JocundaSykes for all of their work on this chapter. I am indebted to you both for all of your help! <3

For more than just his nights with Severus, Harry enjoyed the slower lull of the Christmas holiday. Several days after the ball, he took a slow breakfast at the high table, and then sequestered himself in his rooms for a bit of reading. Half the teachers spent the mornings in their rooms and, though he usually skipped the remaining meals, he made a point to show his face at least for breakfast.

He pulled off his stiff robes, sank onto the rug in front of the fire, and propped open a book on the coffee table. As he sipped the hot chocolate he’d pilfered from the Great Hall, he read a passage about Felix Felicis that didn’t quite make sense. He read through it a few more times, jotted a couple of questions on a spare bit of parchment, and read it again, but it still passed through his brain foggily. He made a mental note to ask Severus about it.

 _Severus_.

Harry fought against creeping tendrils of memories. But he had a hard time banishing the image of Severus’s long, naked form spread against his sheets, his black hair fanned out on his pillow. The words on the page faded and he dropped the book onto the rug.

Overall, he was losing focus on more than just his book. He should make plans for the future, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to think beyond the coming night and his meeting with Severus.

And he had already fallen behind. He needed to brew the potion that Hermione theorised would counteract the effects of the Drink of Despair, or the Emerald Potion, that he would find in the cave with the locket. It would take at least a month to make and, as a novice brewer, he had to leave time for error and the possibility that he would have to scrap it and start again. Hermione had brewed it once, and walked him through the steps (and the theory, though he retained little of that) but he had yet to start. And he would have to find somewhere besides a girls’ toilet to brew, but didn’t want to ask Slughorn. Perhaps he would ask Severus for help.

 _Severus_.

Harry had never felt this way about anyone before. It was as if someone had lit a small candle inside his chest, and every day the flame grew bigger and brighter. It had not even been an entire day since he and Severus had last lain together, with Harry’s fingers tracing the come on Severus’s stomach before Severus vanished it and rolled his eyes. But yet Harry longed for him, and the time between their late-night meetings passed slowly.

Though Harry wasn’t completely inexperienced, what relationships he’d had were rather limited in scope. Ginny had died in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he missed her as he did everyone, but there was no guarantee that they would have worked out even if she had lived. And though she and Cho had been his childhood crushes, as an adult he was rarely attracted to women. After the Battle of Hogwarts, loneliness had driven him to approach some Muggle men in the village near where he and Hermione had bought their cottage, but none of that had lasted more than a few hours.

There was a rustling noise behind him, and he spilt the hot chocolate down his white shirt. He spun around, pulling his wand out, and saw Slughorn’s head in his fire.

He lowered his wand sheepishly. “Oh. Good morning, Professor.”

Slughorn eyed the wand briefly. “Why, it is afternoon, m’boy! And how many times must I ask you to please call me Horace?”

“Of course,” he replied. “What can I do for you, Horace?”

“I’d been meaning to have this conversation over a meal, but I haven’t seen you all weekend. I’ve been skipping breakfast in favour of a bit of a lie-in and I was wondering if I could pop by for a quick chat?”

“Er…” Harry glanced around the living room. He had a nasty habit of leaving student essays in stacks around the room. There were also several empty ink bottles, broken quills, and some of his casual clothes balled up in the corners. He usually shoved it all into a cupboard before Severus’s (now almost nightly) visits, but the mess always grew by the next afternoon.

Slughorn’s face held such a hopeful expression.

“Sure, just give me a minute,” Harry said.

“Excellent!”

Harry stood and started magicking the rubbish into the bedroom. A wadded up piece of parchment zoomed past his ear as Slughorn continued, “I’ll bring some chocolates that my old friend Hamish McFarland sent over. You might know him. He was the Captain of the Montrose Magpies for several years, and he’s now the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

Harry had just banished his laundry into his bedroom when Slughorn’s enormous stomach preceded him into Harry’s living room.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Harry explained, gesturing at the stacks of papers. “I’ve got the student essays all organised, but my filing system is a little haphazard.”

Slughorn raised his eyebrows, yet he said nothing. He ambled over to the large navy armchair near the bookshelf and sank in with a sigh. “Not to worry, not to worry.” He leaned forwards with a groan and set a box of chocolates on the coffee table. “Belgian Chocolates. They’re from the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports,” he explained again. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a drop of tea if you’ve got it.”

It was rather as though Aunt Petunia had come to visit.

“Er, yes sir, of course.” He hurried into the kitchen and started the pot boiling.

“I believe I mentioned to you that Hamish McFarland and I are good friends?”

“Yes, you did, sir,” Harry said. “I’ve also heard that he was, ah, excellent on a broom.” He hadn’t seen him play, of course, but someone—probably Ron—had told him about how great of a player he had been. Harry passed on the half-remembered compliments to Slughorn, who launched into a long explanation of how their friendship dated back to McFarland’s school days.

“Anyway, he always sends me chocolates for Christmas,” he finished as Harry served the tea.

“Thank you for bringing them over.”

Harry sipped his tea, set the cup down on the table, and shifted in his chair. Something wet clung to his stomach, and he patted his shirt, the hot chocolate he had forgotten about was sticky on his hand. He tried to cast a discreet cleaning charm whilst Slughorn popped a chocolate into his mouth, but didn’t quite get the stain out. He smoothed the front of his shirt down and hoped whatever had brought Slughorn over would preoccupy him.

“How can I help?” Harry asked.

“This is excellent tea,” he replied.

Harry doubted it. It was the cheap stuff he’d bought at a Muggle shop a few months ago.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

For all Slughorn’s attempts at stalling, he couldn’t stay quiet for long. Harry picked up his teacup and waited.

“Of course, it’s not just my dear friend Hamish McFarland that remembers me at Christmas. I have many former students that send me presents and cards.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said. “I’ve heard many good things about you from your Slytherins.” That was partially true, though Harry had heard equally bad things too.

Slughorn smiled broadly. “Well, well, I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I do take good care of my Slytherins. I do wonder, which of them shared that with you?” He narrowed his eyes in consideration but then changed his mind. “No matter, no matter.” He sipped his tea. “One of my favourite students, of course, was Lucius Malfoy. Clever young man, that one. Done many a good thing with the Ministry since graduation, too.”

“Yes, I enjoyed the ball. Especially the carriages,” Harry said with a small smile.

“And, of course, there are a few other former students that are interested in you.” As he leaned towards Harry, his stomach squashed into his lap. “My Slytherins have told me things about you, too. Interesting things about your prowess with wandless magic.” He paused as if he expected Harry to demonstrate this skill right there and then.

Harry shrugged. “I spent several years in hiding with a good friend of mine. We had little else to do but practise magic and, for a time, I was without a wand. It had been broken.”

“Hmm. Interesting, interesting. But of course, you’ve found a new wand, though nothing can replace that first one.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He could feel the smooth length of his holly wand pressed against his skin in its leather holster. “No wand is ever as special as your first.”

Thoughts of the Elder Wand, resting in his trunk and locked in a secret compartment, threatened to surface and he pushed them away, securing them deep in the back of his mind.

An uncomfortable silence passed as Slughorn shifted in his chair. His chin wobbled as he sighed unhappily and put his teacup on the coffee table.

“The Dark Lord is recruiting,” Slughorn said. He stared at Harry expectantly.

“Yes.”

“Ahh. I’m assuming he’s approached you? Did you meet him at the ball? I heard afterwards that he was there, and that you and young Mr Snape were late to return.”

“Yes, I met the Dark Lord that night. As did Mr Snape.” After a moment, Harry said, “I don’t have any intention of joining him.”

Slughorn let out a great breath. “Oh, goodness, but are you ever walking a fine line.” He pulled out an off white handkerchief and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. “Malfoy himself wrote to me saying that I could no longer use my position as a teacher to defer my involvement as he’s under the impression you’re planning on joining up.”

Harry shook his head. “I said nothing of the sort. I certainly have no concrete plans.”

“Good, good. Well, I’m glad I finally tracked you down. It’s a fine balancing act, m’boy.” He drained the last of his tea. “I don’t know when things all got so muddled. It wasn’t always this way. Back in my day, what we call Dark Magic wasn’t so frowned upon, and most of us hardly made the distinction between Dark and other magic.”

“There is… some magic, however, that is best left alone,” Harry cautioned, as young Tom Riddle’s question about Horcruxes rang in his mind.

Slughorn’s watery eyes held Harry’s for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Of course! Yes, indeed. Well, good chat.” He heaved himself out of the armchair.

“I’ve heard there are certain magics that the Dark Lord practises which are best left alone.”

“Hmm? Oh, perhaps, I wouldn’t know.” Slughorn made it to the fire and returned to his quarters.

* * *

As an inky black sky replaced the foggy afternoon, Harry missed dinner in the Great Hall and replayed the conversation with Slughorn.

Had Slughorn got the wrong idea about things from Malfoy, or had Malfoy told Slughorn that Harry would be joining? He’d not meant to commit to anything that night at the ball, but then, Harry had never been known for his subtlety. He had given little consideration to Slughorn’s unique position amongst the Slytherins, but the fine line that he mentioned they were walking became clearer the more he pondered it.

Slughorn, apart from not wanting to put his own skin on the line, could not join Voldemort in earnest because he knew Dumbledore would sack him or make him turn spy. But Voldemort wouldn’t stop recruiting him; Slughorn and his connections would be invaluable, even if he lost his position at the school.

The night deepened and Harry pushed Slughorn from his mind. After a quick shower, he stuffed a Chocolate Frog in his mouth and searched his room for a clean shirt. The house-elves did the laundry for him, as they did for everyone in Hogwarts, but he had to put it in the laundry basket first. He opened the hallway cupboard and dug through a pile of clothes, all trousers, and then slammed it shut. At last, he found a shirt crumpled up under a chair and he pulled it on just as there was a gentle rapping at his door.

“Come in,” he called and released his wards. A very confused McGonagall stood upon his threshold.

“Good evening, Harry.” She raised her eyebrows as her eyes scanned the room.

“Oh, er, would you like to come in for a pot of tea, Minerva?” Harry asked as he cast a discrete spell to banish the remaining laundry under the sofa.

“Perhaps another time?” Her eyebrows crept towards her hairline with every glance around Harry’s quarters. He walked towards the doorway, blocking most of it from view. “Maybe tomorrow night? I just wanted to have a chat about something small. Nothing urgent.”

“Sure, does eight o’clock work?” he asked.

“Perfectly.” She turned to go before adding, “Oh, and Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Your shirt’s on inside out.”

“Er. Yes. Thanks, Minerva.”

“Goodnight,” she said with a smile.

After the door closed, he pulled his shirt off again. He really should stop just throwing stuff everywhere, commit to putting his laundry away, and organise the rest of his belongings better. The house-elves were pretty good about picking up actual rubbish, but they didn’t sort his student essays for him, and sometimes they left his empty inkwells so he could refill them.

Another knock.

This time, he called out, “Who is it?”

The silence that followed held the answer. He opened the door, half-hidden, to an empty threshold.

“Come in,” he whispered. The door clicked shut and, after a soft whoosh of a wand as Severus cancelled the charm, the Slytherin appeared, his eyebrow already raised.

“Do you often answer your door half-naked?” he asked, his eyes raking over Harry’s torso. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.” 

“Not often. And actually, McGonagall just stopped by for a chat.”

“Indeed?” Severus asked. He took a seat on the (mostly clear) sofa, grimacing at the half-eaten Chocolate Frog. Harry snatched it away and banished it to his kitchen alcove. He dropped his shirt on the floor as he took a seat next to Severus.

“Yeah, she wants to meet tomorrow night. I’m going to have to skip our meeting.”

“Oh.” Severus picked up a crumpled wrapper off the sofa with another grimace and set it on the coffee table. “Well, of course, that’s fine. It is my NEWT year, after all, and I really should devote more time to studying. And I do have other interests.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Harry whispered.

Severus gave a small smile. “Once term resumes, we’re going to have to be more careful.” His voice, low and stern, sent shivers through Harry.

“I think you’ve forgotten that I’m the teacher.”

“And, whilst I must admit that you are a competent teacher, I’m growing suspicious of your abilities in other aspects of your life.”

“Hey! Just because my room’s a bit messy? So what, in the Slytherin dormitories, everything’s as neat as a pin? A bunch of teenage boys leave nothing out of place?”

“Yes.”

He leaned back against the sofa, frowning as he examined Severus’s stone-like face. “Damn it, I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“I never joke.”

Harry laughed. “Fine, whatever.” He threw up his hands. “I’m disgraceful. Teenagers are cleaner than me. And the rest of my life is spiralling out of control. Are you happy now?”

“Not entirely,” Severus said and kissed him. His fingers scratched lightly across Harry’s chest and then pinched his nipple.

Harry gasped and broke away from the kiss. “Mean.” Severus flicked his fingernail across it.

“May we proceed to your bedroom? I brought something.”

“‘May we’? Merlin, Severus, this isn’t primary school. I won’t slap your hand with a ruler if you disobey me.”

“No?” Severus asked in a tone half-teasing and half-playfully disappointed. Harry swallowed. “Please, Harry, I brought something I’d like to show you.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him upright.

Harry allowed himself to be led into his bedroom. And, of course, Harry hadn’t remembered to make the bed. He cleared his throat and pulled out his wand, casting a silent spell to tidy it up. His bedding still looked a bit rumpled, as he had never quite mastered household spells.

He went to put his wand on the chest of drawers but Severus held out his hand, palm up, and asked, “May I?”

Harry wanted to make a joke about his phrasing again or to say something ridiculous about wizards swapping wands, but Severus’s black eyes shone seriously. Harry nodded and placed his wand in his hand.

Severus did not grip the handle, but studied it, as Mr Ollivander had done during his fourth year before the Triwizard Tournament. He wished he had thought to polish off the fingerprints before he had handed it over.

“Holly?” Severus asked after a few moments.

“How on Earth did you know that?”

“I studied a bit on wand lore. Holly’s a rare find, however, and I wasn’t entirely sure.” He passed the wand back. “Perhaps it is fitting, though, as it’s traditionally considered protective, and you teach Defence.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow. “Yes, also it works well for ‘those who may need help to overcome a tendency to anger and impetuosity.’ Perhaps that doesn’t apply?” he asked with a smirk.

“Of course not,” Harry said drily.

“What’s your core? Dragon? I don’t think unicorn hair would work particularly well for you.”

“Phoenix feather.”

“Really?” Severus snatched Harry’s wand back, his neck bent over the wand, holding it only inches from his face. “It is extremely difficult to pair phoenix feather with holly. Almost impossible. Something to do with the wood’s volatility and the phoenix’s detachment, though I do admit to not being terribly well-versed in the subject.”

“Well, you know more than I do. So what’s your wand?”

Severus pulled it from the sleeves of his robes in a flourish. “Acacia,” he said proudly.

Harry took the wand, just as careful as Severus had been with his. It was a lovely, long wand: dark, thin and almost delicate. Harry did not want to admit his ignorance, so he bent over it and hummed appreciatively.

When he handed it back, Severus said, “You really know nothing about wands, do you?” Harry shrugged. “But holly and phoenix feather, what an interesting combination. What did Ollivander say when he sold it to you?”

Harry debated whether he should admit to having bought a wand from Ollivander, but it was possible that there was some signature on the wand that Severus had seen or felt and he thought it best not to lie.

“He said something about it being ‘most curious’, but I was so disconcerted by his silvery eyes that I found it difficult to pay proper attention.”

Severus snorted. “I believe that. Well, acacia wood is equally unusual. Most known for being tricky and unwieldy for anyone but their owner, and they withhold their best effects from all but the most gifted. I’ve never had a problem,” he added with a satisfied smile. “It is also difficult to pair with my core, dragon heartstring, because acacia wood is not known for ‘bangs-and-smells’ magic, whilst dragon heartstring is particularly suited for flamboyant spells. The result is a subtle but powerful wand—temperamental but strongly bound to me.”

“Yes, that suits you.” Harry put Severus’s wand on his chest of drawers, and Severus set his holly wand next to it. “So is that what you wanted to show me? Your wand?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Severus let out an exasperated sigh.

“No.”

“I thought you said you brought something.”

“I did.” He produced a small bottle from his robes that contained a creamy-looking liquid.

He handed it to Harry, who felt a bit out of his depth once again. “Er, well, is it a potion?”

Severus sighed again. Harry unstoppered it and caught a whiff of vanilla, cloves and something vaguely medicinal.

“No, you ignoramus.” The warmth in his eyes softened the insult. “It is lubricant.”

“Oh.” Harry cleared his throat. “Oh. Well. I—well. Oh.”

“I want you to fuck me properly before term starts up again,” he said in a casual tone, as if he were asking him about the weather.

“Oh.”

“Yes, you’ve said that.” Severus walked over to the bed, put the bottle on his bedside table, and pulled off his robes. “I’ve done a bit of reading about it and I think that it’s time.”

“You’ve done reading? What books? Where?” Harry’s voice had gone to a much higher register than normal.

Severus hesitated before he stepped out of his trousers. Harry could tell he’d grown in confidence over the past few weeks, but still had a difficult time undressing in his presence. Severus folded his trousers and placed them on the chair in the corner.

“Well, I don’t only read library books, you know. Anyway,” he continued as he pulled off his shirt. “I’ve thought about it a lot and I’ve decided that I’m ready.”

He squared his shoulders and looked at Harry.

“Well, I’m not,” Harry spluttered out.

Severus shrugged in an elegant motion that rippled his smooth skin. A slight pause before he pulled off his black underwear, folded them in half, and set it neatly on the pile. As he turned, Harry could see the curve of his arse and his heart thrummed in his chest.

“I don’t see why,” Severus said.

Harry never would have thought that Severus Snape would stand in his bedroom, asking Harry to bugger him.

“Don’t you think this is all moving a bit fast?”

“No.”

His confidence and his casual nakedness sent an electric jolt of desire through Harry. He took a step forwards and grabbed Harry’s chin, tilting it up. “Do you think this is moving too fast?” He didn’t wait for a response before kissing him.

The kiss, deep and slow, pulled a moan from Harry. Harry’s hand came up to grip Severus’s waist, pulling him closer, but Severus held back, his fingers on the buttons of Harry’s trousers. He undid them deftly and pulled them off between kisses, before pushing him towards the bed.

“We don’t have to use it tonight,” Severus said as they lay down together, his hand trailing across Harry’s back. “I just thought that I would prepare for the possibility. I’d rather brew something myself, rather than trust whatever I’d find in Hogsmeade or get by owl order.”

“Logical,” Harry said as he slid across Severus’s body and seized him in another kiss.

He reached down and gripped Severus’s cock, stroking it languidly. Severus’s hand smoothed his hair. Harry broke away and cupped Severus’s cheek in his palm, staring into soft black eyes.

“Not that I mind things as they are, you understand,” Severus said. The knot in Harry’s chest eased somewhat and he nodded. Long fingers curled around his neck and pulled him into another kiss.

A few hours later, some time after midnight Severus left under a Disillusionment Charm . It wasn’t until the next morning that Harry found the bottle of lubricant Severus had left on his bedside table and tucked it away in a drawer.

* * *

A couple of days later, Harry broached the subject of his planned potions project with Severus. They were lying in bed, Severus’s head resting on Harry’s chest, watching the fire, his thumb absently rubbing Harry’s sternum. Harry’s fingers stroked the fine, silky strands of hair.

Without stopping to consider, Harry said, “I have to brew a potion discreetly.”

Severus stilled.

“It is, ah, let’s just say experimental and I’m afraid it might be a bit beyond me. I was wondering if you could help me with it?”

“Indeed?”

“Yeah, it’s something a friend of mine came up with a while ago before—before she died.” Harry swallowed around a lump in his throat. That was the first time that he had admitted aloud that Hermione was dead.

“It’s a project you’ve been wanting to work on for quite some time, then? I suppose you asked around to find out which students were skilled enough to assist you?” He sat up and the sneer on his face startled Harry. “Lucky for you I’m a gullible poof.”

“Severus, no! Listen.” He grabbed Severus’s arm and pulled him back. “You don’t have to help me at all. I just thought… I thought it’d be fun to do together.” He sighed. “I fucked that up. But, well, never mind. I don’t need your help. I could manage myself.” Dark eyes caught his and Harry added wryly, “Though you’d probably enjoy the opportunity to mock my lack of potions knowledge.”

Severus considered him for a moment, smirked, and laid back down. “Probably. Yes, I know a place we can brew. I’ve had access to the NEWT-level brewing rooms since my fifth year. I suppose you don’t want Slughorn involved?” Harry shook his head. “He has several brewing rooms set up and doesn’t keep careful track of who is using them. He’s usually satisfied to not ask too many questions, as you give him a sample of a potion once you have finished. I’ve brewed two at once and only given him one sample, and he’s never realised.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask which potions you were brewing illicitly, and I won’t press, but I will say my curiosity is piqued.” Harry tentatively went back to stroking Severus’s hair and his heart lightened when he didn’t pull away.

“I meant what I said before. I don’t need your help, though I would like it.”

A pause.

“Well, now my curiosity is piqued,” Severus said. “I—I would be happy to render some assistance.”

“Perfect. Just try to keep your sarcasm to a minimum and remember that my speciality is Defence, not Potions.”

“Hmm. That terrible, are you? Would you even be able to pass your OWLs if you sat them tomorrow?”

“Er… I’d probably get an Acceptable… if I had a week or two to revise first.”

“And the wizarding world considers you a fully qualified wizard?”

“Yeah.”

“Deplorable.”

“Yeah,” Harry said as his face broke out into a grin.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to JocundaSykes and zalil for all of their help this chapter!
> 
> Also, I want to apologise if the first scene is a little ridiculous. I wrote it because I'm tired of fanon crediting James, Sirius, Remus and/or Lily with "cool" taste in music. 
> 
> So here they are dancing to ABBA. (Though I have nothing against ABBA. The song I used is a great song.)

The day the students returned, word had got around that Evans had been crying all afternoon. Severus glanced over at the Gryffindor table and then stared at his roast potatoes.

“As if I don’t know what it’s like to have a terrible sibling!” Sirius Black shouted. 

Regulus stood and toasted the Gryffindor table with his goblet, and the nearby Slytherins snickered.

Potter threw his arm around Evans’ shoulders and Severus scowled. She was too good for the likes of Potter. He’d lost the right to tell her that, though, when he’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her the way that she wished.

Forks and knives scraped plates, goblets clanked together, and the chatter of students bounced off the stone walls. Severus resented the entire boisterous affair.

Opposite, Lestrange and Avery were whispering with their heads bowed together. Avery’s face was pinched, and he kept glancing at the students on either side of them and tapping his wand on the table to check the silencing spell. Lestrange had dark circles under his eyes.

Severus gripped his wand under the table with his left hand and cancelled the Silencing Charm as he bit into his potato.

“We must be cautious if we are to proceed as you suggest—”

Avery tapped the table to test the charm. He halted Lestrange with a hand to his harm and examined the surrounding faces, his face growing pale. Severus fixed his gaze on his plate, his wand hand visible to them as it clutched his fork.

“Not here,” Avery told Lestrange in a low voice.

“Look!” someone called.

Severus turned to see Potter and Black standing on their benches, wands pointed in the air towards a shining, silver ball, covered in hundreds of tiny square mirrors. It spun, and the light from the candles bounced around the room. Pettigrew emerged from under the table clutching a gramophone.

And then the music started. For the life of him, Severus could not identify the instrument, but the two Gryffindors began to dance. They had whipped off their robes to reveal Muggle clothes.

_‘Ooh, you can dance, you can jive,_

_Having the time of your life._

_Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene,_

_Digging the dancing queen.’_

The werewolf, wand on the giant spinning ball, gave a thumbs-up to Pettigrew. Black spun on the table and winked at the Gryffindors, who cheered. Potter grabbed Lily’s hand and tried to pull her onto the table with him, but she refused, though a smile spread across her splotchy face.

Severus sneered and glanced towards the High Table. Had the Slytherins pulled a stunt like this—not that they would, and abandon all decorum—they would likely face repercussions. Instead, blue eyes twinkling, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his periwinkle robes. Even McGonagall’s typically terse mouth had quirked into a half-smile.

Avery met his eyes and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Honestly,” he murmured and shook his head.

_‘You are the dancing queen,_

_Young and sweet, only seventeen,_

_Dancing queen,_

_Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah.’_

Potter dragged Evans up onto the table and a few other Gryffindors climbed up too, eager to join in, whilst the rest clapped in time with the music. The Muggle music wormed its way into Severus’s mind and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

_‘You can dance, you can jive,_

_Having the time of your life,_

_Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene,_

_Digging the dancing queen.’_

The clapping spread to the Hufflepuffs like a disease. Black grabbed a bowl of peas and threw it into the air. With a flick of his wand, the peas morphed into glittering confetti that fell like thick flakes of snow.

Lestrange continued with the meal as though nothing unusual were taking place, but Avery said, “Of course, the teachers won’t do anything to stop it. And look at Greene: he’s cracked!”

Avery was right. Harry was laughing. Open-mouthed, body-shaking laughter, louder even than the terrible Muggle song. Severus quashed the rising sense of betrayal as Harry wiped the tears from his eyes. Everyone liked the Gryffindors, but Severus had thought perhaps Harry felt differently about them.

The song ended, and the Gryffindors took a bow. Even the Ravenclaws clapped.

McGonagall stood and cleared her throat and the hall fell silent. “Thank you very kindly for this evening’s entertainment as well as volunteering to clean up afterwards.”

“You’re welcome, Professor,” Potter replied with a cheeky grin.

* * *

“Detention, Mr Snape.” Not a hint of amusement softened Harry’s face. “No duelling in the corridors and there is never an excuse to hex a classmate from behind.”

Severus did not regret the Stinging Hex one bit. “Professor, Potter called me a—”

“I heard. And that’s ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter.”

“Ten points, Professor?”

“I have a mind to assign you detention as well, but you’re dismissed. I want a word with Snape.”

Severus waited until Potter’s echoing footsteps disappeared around the corner before stepping towards Harry. “Detention with you? Can we make it tonight? I have some ideas on how I could… serve it.” They were close enough that Severus could see how Harry’s pupils dilated at his suggestion.

“Come with me,” Harry said. He stalked off towards his office. Severus followed, head down in an attempt to look contrite, as if he were being punished.

The door swung shut behind him and Harry said, “You know better than to hex Potter in the hallway, especially without even looking to see if a teacher is present.”

“I do. It was a moment of weakness and admittedly ill-timed.”

Harry sat down in his chair and propped his elbows on the desk, his chin resting in his palm. “I thought Potter and his friends mostly left you alone?”

“Potter will still get in a cheap shot if he gets the chance.”

Harry snorted. “Since when is a hex to the back not a cheap shot?”

“He hadn’t turned until I’d already cast.”

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. “Sit down, Severus. I have an idea for what we can do for your detention.”

“I have several ideas about that as well,” Severus said in a low voice as he took a seat in the wingback chair.

A faint tinge of pink appeared on Harry’s cheeks. “I hardly think that’d be appropriate.”

“Definitely not, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about it.” He watched Harry’s Adam’s apple bob and savoured the heat in Harry’s eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

“The potion. The one I mentioned the other night.”

Severus’s lips pursed. “That mysterious potion again. Yes, alright. And you still won’t tell me anything about it?” Harry shook his head. “Very well. Have you procured the necessary ingredients?”

“Yes, I’ve tracked down a few of the rarer ones, and Slughorn has permitted me to use one of the brewing rooms. I led him to believe I’m experimenting with a new, perhaps illicit version of Dreamless Sleep. He didn’t ask too many questions.”

“Are there any books I should, perhaps, check out from the library? Any advanced techniques I should review?” He hadn’t quite kept the bite from his voice as he asked.

“No, I’m sure you’ll be up to it. Maybe tomorrow after your afternoon classes? I mean, if that works for you.”

He raised his eyebrow. “I don’t believe you’re supposed to ask your students what time is most convenient to assign detention.”

“True. Tomorrow, then, Mr Snape.”

“And tonight.”

“Tonight.” His eyes flicked over Severus’s body and a tingle of anticipation prickled across his skin. “You are dismissed.”

* * *

In the soft glow of the dying fire, Harry’s naked body glistened. Severus’s hand slowed its pace as he stroked Harry’s cock and his hips thrust up, seeking more friction. Severus’s hand stilled and Harry groaned and squeezed his eyes closed. Sweat dampened his forehead. His pink tongue darted out to wet his dry lips.

Severus had taken Harry to the brink of orgasm several times, each time his hand slowing at the last second.

“Please, Severus,” Harry said, his voice hoarse. “Please.” Severus’s cock, hard but forgotten for the moment, twitched.

Harry sighed with relief as Severus sped up his strokes. Severus had always enjoyed the carefully wrought unhinging as another man lost himself in pleasure. But it had never been quite like this before. It had always been hurried, full of fumbling and one-sided completion, and awkward weeks afterwards.

A few more moments and then Harry’s hips bucked and his cock pulsed, sending a spurt of come across his stomach and then another that dribbled down Severus’s hand.

“That was amazing,” Harry said, his voice breathless. His pupils were blown and his cheeks were flushed and he was looking at him as if he wanted to devour him. Severus smirked and brought his hand up to his mouth and licked come off his knuckles.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered and sat up in bed, the springs creaking.

With a raised eyebrow, Severus took another lick, long and slow, his tongue snaking between his fingers. Harry sucked in a sharp breath and lurched forwards, his mouth crushing and desperate. His hand encircled Severus’s cock and stroked it, but the angle was awkward. They shifted together and Harry bent his elbow. He gripped his cock tighter as he licked Severus’s collarbone.

He’d been holding himself back, delighting in Harry’s slow torture, and his body was ready for release. But he didn’t want it to end. “Slower,” he said and pushed Harry’s hand away.

“But I want you to come for me,” Harry whispered into his neck. He nipped at a tender spot of his skin.

“Not yet.”

“You’re lovely when you come. Let me see it.”

Severus snorted and sat up, pushing Harry’s hand away. “Do be reasonable. Lovely? You need glasses.” This brought a lop-sided smile to Harry’s already disjointed face.

“There are spells to fix poor eyesight, you know.” His hand once again wrapped around Severus’s cock, his fingers were rough with callouses as he stroked Severus slowly, painfully, perfectly. “Better?”

Severus collapsed on the pillow. His throat was tight, so he nodded. A haze filled his mind and nothing existed for him but the gradual stroking of his prick.

“God, look at you.” Harry’s whisper was barely audible over the blood rushing in his head. “I have to watch you come. Fuck.”

Despite the tantalisingly slow strokes, Severus’s orgasm built too quickly. The muscles of his thighs tensed as Harry’s left hand explored his body, pinching his nipples, stroking his thighs, and cupping his balls. Severus lost himself in Harry’s touch and he came with a groan.

Harry cast a quick cleaning charm across them both and settled in, his head resting on Severus’s shoulder.

As the light from the dying fire faded, Harry fell asleep to Severus tracing the silver-white scars on his chest.

* * *

Harry hadn’t lied about his deficiencies in Potions. Severus initially thought it might be some sort of false modesty, but as he watched Harry mangle the roots he should be mincing and then add them to the potion at the wrong moment, he had to concede that Harry had given his abilities a fair assessment.

With a frustrated sigh, he snatched Harry’s spoon and shoved him out of the way. He took a moment to consider his options, scowling at the bubbling liquid, he added three counter-clockwise stirs and waited.

He glared at Harry, who immediately stopped drumming his fingers on the table. The potion boiled for two minutes and then, after a dash of common table salt, it returned to its intended dark-purple colour.

“And you’re sure whoever taught you Potions was qualified to do so?”

Harry snorted. “He was. Though he called me a ‘dunderhead’ all the time.”

“Hmm,” Severus said, not disagreeing, and he took over chopping the next ingredient.

“Though I did have a friend during my sixth year. He was brilliant with potions and had added the most genius notations to the book that I—we used.”

“A friend?”

“Not that sort of friend,” he said with a smirk that soon devolved into laughter. He clutched his sides and bumped the table.

Severus glared. “Do control yourself.” Severus brushed the Sopophorous beans back into a neat pile.

“Sorry. No, not that sort of friend. He never would’ve allowed for something like that to happen between us. And I don’t think I realised I felt that way about him until much later.”

“Oh.” He started chopping, ignoring the heat that rose on his cheeks. “I’ve brewed Dreamless Sleep before and it’s not much above fifth-year level.”

“It needs a month to simmer, though, and if we made some minor changes to it with some contraband ingredients, then Slughorn will be convinced I’m just a bit daft.”

“Like he’ll need much convincing.”

Harry smiled at the insult and gathered a pile of beans. Severus was just about to teach him the trick of using the silver dagger to crush them when Harry reached for it and did it on his own.

“So you did learn something about potions, at least. Was it from your professor or your friend?” Harry glanced down at the silver dagger for a moment. When he turned to Severus, he had a soft smile on his face.

“I can’t really remember. But the man who taught me Potions was skilled in his subject and, in his own way, even good at teaching sometimes. But there was just a lot of other stuff between us.”

Severus had no answer to that, so he resumed his chopping. When he finished, he checked his watch. He still had ten minutes to go before he needed to add the remaining ingredients, so he set about cleaning his workspace for the night.

“Have you ever heard of the Drink of Despair?”

His wand hung in midair. He placed it on the bench before he answered. “I have.” It was a dark potion, not one discussed in any of the books at Hogwarts, not even in the restricted section.

“I don’t want to brew it,” Harry rushed to assure him. “I need to brew an antidote. I think I’ve got one, or at least the beginnings of one, but it’s all kind of jumbled and I don’t quite know if it’ll work.”

“Why would you need to counteract the Drink of Despair?” Unease prickled him at the way Harry’s chin jutted out stubbornly.

“I can’t tell you.”

Severus sighed and turned away.

“I will, though. I promise.” Harry closed the distance between them and laid his hand against his face. His thumb, warm and rough, stroked his cheekbone and Severus’s mouth parted.

“We shouldn’t,” Severus murmured.

“Not here,” Harry agreed, but then reached up to cradle the base of his skull and quickly pulled him down into a kiss. Severus liked how it felt to lean down to kiss him. They kissed tenderly, their breaths hot as it lingered in the space between them.

As Severus dragged his tongue against Harry’s lips, Harry moaned and thrust his hips. So hard, so eager for him. Severus dropped to his knees and took out Harry’s cock. Fingers fluttered against his hair before they firmly pushed it back.

“Oh, God, you look so amazing like this. I dream about this so often. I was so embarrassed, but I just couldn’t forget.”

Severus didn’t want to think about that night with Lestrange months ago. He sped up his efforts, taking more of his cock into his mouth, wanting nothing more than to force an orgasm from him. Harry’s fingers tightened in his hair as he jerked his hips forwards.

Harry groaned and came in Severus’s mouth, his head falling back against the shelf with a loud thunk.

Someone cleared their voice from the doorway, causing them both to start and look around.

Regulus rested casually against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. “You’d think that a professor would use a stronger locking charm,” he said and raised his eyebrow. “Well, it looks as if you both are quite busy right now. I’ll see you later, Professor. Severus.”

The door clicked shut.

“Shit,” Harry said.

“Indeed.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! 
> 
> Unfortunately, I am going to have to take a small posting break. I work on this story every day, but I am having a difficult time with the editing process. I'm in the middle of reworking and rewriting earlier chapters and I'm finding it hard to balance that with writing new chapters.
> 
> I promise, *promise,* PROMISE that I will finish this story. I am personally haunted by 'Ghosts of WIPs Past' and I promise not to abandon this story.
> 
> I have a detailed outline but I need some time to get it all written down and have it looked over so that it makes sense.
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience. <3 I am blown away that so many people are enjoying this story and I appreciate every single one of you. :)


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